At last, they became so
filled one with the other that they could not close their eyes without
seeing before them, with an astonishing clearness of detail, the image
of their new friend; so, in reality, they were never separated.
It was a constant surprise to Angelique that she had unbosomed herself
at once to Felicien. At their first meeting she had confided in him,
had told him everything about her habits, her tastes, and the deepest
secrets of her heart. He, more silent, was called Felicien, and that was
all she knew. Perhaps it was quite right that it should be so; the woman
giving everything, and the man holding himself back as a stranger. She
had no premature curiosity. She continued to smile at the thought of
things which would certainly be realised. So for her, that of which she
was ignorant counted for nothing. The only important fact in her mind
was the intimacy between them, which united them, little by little,
apart from the world. She knew nothing about him, yet she was so well
acquainted with his nature that she could read his thoughts in a simple
look or smile. He, her hero, had come as she always said he would. She
had at once recognised him, and they loved each other.
So they enjoyed most thoroughly this true possession from a distance.
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