"'A little hurt,' replied she, 'but very slightly, since I am going to spend the day with you, as I am in the habit of doing; and that the only difference is, that there is a green ribbon between your mouth and my eyes.'
"'Green! green! Oh, God! what does that mean? What is a green ribbon?'
"'I have seen,' said she, 'I can see,' and her hand trembled in mine, as if she had apprised me of some fault or misfortune.
"'You have seen,' exclaimed I, 'you will see! Oh! unfortunate creature that I am! Yes, you will see, and the glass which has hitherto been to you a cold and polished surface, will reflect your living image; its language, though mute, will be animated; it will tell you each day that you are beautiful! and when you return to me it will make you entertain only one feeling toward me, that of pity for my misfortunes. Yet what do I say? you will not return to me; for who is the beautiful girl who would bestow her affection on a blind lover? Oh! unfortunate creature that I am to be blind;' in my despair I fell to the earth; she wound her arms round me, twined her fingers in my hair, and covered me with kisses, while she sobbed like a child.
"'No, no! I will never love any one but Gervais. You were happy yesterday, in thinking we were blind, because our love would never be likely to change. I will be blind again, if my recovery of sight makes you unhappy. Shall I remove this bandage, and cause the light of my eyes to be for ever extinguished? Horrible idea, I had actually thought of it.'
"'Stop, stop,' cried I, 'our language is that of madness, because we are both unnerved and ill--you from excess of happiness, and I from despair. Listen,' and I placed myself beside her, but my heart felt ready to break. 'Listen,' continued I, 'it is a great blessing that you are permitted to see, for now you are perfect; it matters not, if I do not see, or if I die; I shall be abandoned, for this is the destiny which God has reserved for me; but promise me that you will never see me, that you will never attempt to see me; if you see me, you will, in spite of yourself, compare me to others--to those whose soul, whose thoughts may be read in their eyes, to those who set a woman fondly dreaming with a single glance of fire. I would not let it be in your power to compare me; I would be to you what I was in the mind of a little blind girl, as if you saw me in a dream. I want you to promise me that you will never come here without your green bandage; that you will visit me every week, or every month, or at least once every year;--ah! promise me to come back once more, without seeing me.'