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together； to…morrow morning； in one last embrace； would be joy。 It
seems to me that even then I should have lived more than a hundred
years。 What does the number of days matter if we have spent a whole
lifetime of peace and love in one night； in one hour？〃
〃You are right； Heaven is speaking through that pretty mouth of yours。
Grant that I may kiss you； and let us die；〃 said Raphael。
〃Then let us die；〃 she said； laughing。
Towards nine o'clock in the morning the daylight streamed through the
chinks of the window shutters。 Obscured somewhat by the muslin
curtains； it yet sufficed to show clearly the rich colors of the
carpet； the silks and furniture of the room； where the two lovers were
lying asleep。 The gilding sparkled here and there。 A ray of sunshine
fell and faded upon the soft down quilt that the freaks of live had
thrown to the ground。 The outlines of Pauline's dress； hanging from a
cheval glass； appeared like a shadowy ghost。 Her dainty shoes had been
left at a distance from the bed。 A nightingale came to perch upon the
sill； its trills repeated over again； and the sounds of its wings
suddenly shaken out for flight； awoke Raphael。
〃For me to die；〃 he said； following out a thought begun in his dream；
〃my organization； the mechanism of flesh and bone； that is quickened
by the will in me； and makes of me an individual MAN； must display
some perceptible disease。 Doctors ought to understand the symptoms of
any attack on vitality； and could tell me whether I am sick or sound。〃
He gazed at his sleeping wife。 She had stretched her head out to him；
expressing in this way even while she slept the anxious tenderness of
love。 Pauline seemed to look at him as she lay with her face turned
towards him in an attitude as full of grace as a young child's； with
her pretty； half…opened mouth held out towards him； as she drew her
light； even breath。 Her little pearly teeth seemed to heighten the
redness of the fresh lips with the smile hovering over them。 The red
glow in her complexion was brighter； and its whiteness was； so to
speak； whiter still just then than in the most impassioned moments of
the waking day。 In her unconstrained grace； as she lay； so full of
believing trust； the adorable attractions of childhood were added to
the enchantments of love。
Even the most unaffected women still obey certain social conventions；
which restrain the free expansion of the soul within them during their
waking hours； but slumber seems to give them back the spontaneity of
life which makes infancy lovely。 Pauline blushed for nothing； she was
like one of those beloved and heavenly beings； in whom reason has not
yet put motives into their actions and mystery into their glances。 Her
profile stood out in sharp relief against the fine cambric of the
pillows； there was a certain sprightliness about her loose hair in
confusion； mingled with the deep lace ruffles； but she was sleeping in
happiness； her long lashes were tightly pressed against her cheeks； as
if to secure her eyes from too strong a light； or to aid an effort of
her soul to recollect and to hold fast a bliss that had been perfect
but fleeting。 Her tiny pink and white ear； framed by a lock of her
hair and outlined by a wrapping of Mechlin lace； would have made an
artist； a painter； an old man； wildly in love； and would perhaps have
restored a madman to his senses。
Is it not an ineffable bliss to behold the woman that you love；
sleeping； smiling in a peaceful dream beneath your protection； loving
you even in dreams； even at the point where the individual seems to
cease to exist； offering to you yet the mute lips that speak to you in
slumber of the latest kiss？ Is it not indescribable happiness to see a
trusting woman； half…clad； but wrapped round in her love as by a cloak
modesty in the midst of dishevelmentto see admiringly her
scattered clothing； the silken stocking hastily put off to please you
last evening； the unclasped girdle that implies a boundless faith in
you。 A whole romance lies there in that girdle； the woman that it used
to protect exists no longer； she is yours； she has become YOU；
henceforward any betrayal of her is a blow dealt at yourself。
In this softened mood Raphael's eyes wandered over the room； now
filled with memories and love； and where the very daylight seemed to
take delightful hues。 Then he turned his gaze at last upon the
outlines of the woman's form； upon youth and purity； and love that
even now had no thought that was not for him alone； above all things；
and longed to live for ever。 As his eyes fell upon Pauline； her own
opened at once as if a ray of sunlight had lighted on them。
〃Good…morning；〃 she said； smiling。 〃How handsome you are； bad man！〃
The grace of love and youth； of silence and dawn； shone in their
faces； making a divine picture； with the fleeting spell over it all
that belongs only to the earliest days of passion； just as simplicity
and artlessness are the peculiar possession of childhood。 Alas！ love's
springtide joys； like our own youthful laughter； must even take
flight； and live for us no longer save in memory； either for our
despair； or to shed some soothing fragrance over us； according to the
bent of our inmost thoughts。
〃What made me wake you？〃 said Raphael。 〃It was so great a pleasure to
watch you sleeping that it brought tears to my eyes。〃
〃And to mine； too；〃 she answered。 〃I cried in the night while I
watched you sleeping； but not with happiness。 Raphael； dear； pray
listen to me。 Your breathing is labored while you sleep； and something
rattles in your chest that frightens me。 You have a little dry cough
when you are asleep； exactly like my father's； who is dying of
phthisis。 In those sounds from your lungs I recognized some of the
peculiar symptoms of that complaint。 Then you are feverish； I know you
are； your hand was moist and burningDarling； you are young；〃 she
added with a shudder； 〃and you could still get over it if
unfortunatelyBut； no；〃 she cried cheerfully； 〃there is no
'unfortunately；' the disease is contagious； so the doctors say。〃
She flung both arms about Raphael； drawing in his breath through one
of those kisses in which the soul reaches its end。
〃I do not wish to live to old age；〃 she said。 〃Let us both die young；
and go to heaven while flowers fill our hands。〃
〃We always make such designs as those when we are well and strong；〃
Raphael replied； burying his hands in Pauline's hair。 But even then a
horrible fit of coughing came on； one of those deep ominous coughs
that seem to come from the depths of the tomb； a cough that leaves the
sufferer ghastly pale； trembling； and perspiring； with aching sides
and quivering nerves； with a feeling of weariness pervading the very
marrow of the spine； and unspeakable languor in every vein。 Raphael
slowly laid himself down； pale； exhausted； and overcome； like a man
who has spent all the strength in him over one final effort。 Pauline's
eyes； grown large with terror； were fixed upon him； she lay quite
motionless； pale； and silent。
〃Let us commit no more follies； my angel；〃 she said； trying not to let
Raphael see the dreadful forebodings that disturbed her。 She covered
her face with her hands； for she saw Death before herthe hideous
skeleton。 Raphael's face had grown as pale and livid as any skull
unearthed from a churchyard to assist the studies of some scientific
man。 Pauline remembered the exclamation that had escaped from Valentin
the previous evening； and to herself she said：
〃Yes； there are gulfs that love can never cross； and therein love must
bury itself。〃
On a March morning； some days after this wretched scene； Raphael found
himself seated in an armchair； placed in the window in the full light
of day。 Four doctors stood round him； each in turn trying his pulse；
feeling him over； and questioning him with apparent interest。 The
invalid sought to guess their thoughts； putting a construction on
every movement they made； and on the slightest contractions of their
brows。 His last hope lay in this consultation。 This court of appeal
was about to pronounce its decisionlife or death。
Valentin had summoned the oracles of modern medicine； so that he might
have the last word of science。 Thanks to his wealth and title； there
stood before him three embodied theories； human knowledge fluctuated
round the three points。 Three of the doctors brought among them the
complete circle of medical philosophy； they represented the points of
conflict round which the battle raged； between Spiritualism； Analysis；
and goodness knows what in the way of mocking eclecticism。
The fourth doctor was Horace Bianchon； a man of science with a future
before him； the most distinguished man of the new school in medicine；
a discreet and unassuming representative of a studious generation that
is preparing to receive the inheritance of fifty years of experience
treasured up by the Ecole de Paris； a generation that perhaps will
erect the monument for the building of which the centuries behind us
have collected the different materials。 As a personal friend of the
Marquis and of Rastignac； he had been in attendance on the former for
some days past； and was helping him to answer