They spoke of all this to no one, were the same to
outsiders in every way, but this increase of tenderness between them
came from their room like a silent perfume, disengaged itself from their
persons at the least movement, by each word, and by their way of looking
at each other, when it seemed as if for the moment they almost exchanged
souls. All this was like the grave accompaniment, the deep continuous
bass, upon which sang in clear notes the two hearts of the young couple.
One week had passed, and the work on the mitre advanced. These daily
meetings had assumed a great and sweet familiarity.
"The forehead should be very high, should it not? Without any trace of
eyebrows?"
"Yes, very high, and not the slightest shade. Quite like an old
miniature."
"Will you pass me the white silk?"
"Wait a minute, that I may thread it."
He helped her, and this union of work put them at their ease. It made
the occupation of each day seem perfectly natural to them both, and
without a word of love ever having been spoken, without their hands
having once met by a voluntary touch, the bond between them grew
stronger each hour, and they were henceforth eternally united one to the
other. It was sufficient for them to have lived until now.
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