Before going to bed I went round to the patient’s room and looked in through the observation trap. He was sleeping soundly, and his heart rose and fell with regular respiration. It was with a feeling which neither of them had ever before experienced, that they sat and watched Pearl’s slow advance.
In her was visible the tie that united them. “Madame,” he said, kneeling, “look upon the unhappy man at your feet. He begs you to believe that at a gesture of your majesty everything will be possible to him.
She had been offered to the world, these seven years past, as the living hieroglyphic, in which was revealed the secret they so darkly sought to hide,—all written in this symbol,—all plainly manifest,—had there been a prophet or magician skilled to read the character of flame! And Pearl was the oneness of their being. He has faith in himself; he has faith in his friends; he wishes also to have faith in his queen.
And in proof that he fears nothing, that he counts on nothing, he will restore Monsieur de Mazarin to your majesty without conditions. Be the foregone evil what it might, how could they doubt that their earthly lives and future destinies were conjoined, when they beheld at once the material union, and the spiritual idea, in whom they met, and were to dwell immortally together? Thoughts like these—and perhaps other thoughts, which they did not acknowledge or define—threw an awe about the child, as she came onward.
Behold, madame! here are the august signatures of your majesty’s hand; if you think you are right in giving them to me, you shall do so, but from this very moment you are free from any obligation to keep them.”