"If our love
perishes, if I put into my heart a long regret, thy fame shall be the
guerdon of my obedience to thy will. Let us enter. I may yet live
again,--a memory on thy palette."
Opening the door of the house the two lovers met Porbus coming out.
Astonished at the beauty of the young girl, whose eyes were still wet
with tears, he caught her all trembling by the hand and led her to the
old master.
"There!" he cried; "is she not worth all the masterpieces in the
world?"
Frenhofer quivered. Gillette stood before him in the ingenuous, simple
attitude of a young Georgian, innocent and timid, captured by brigands
and offered to a slave-merchant. A modest blush suffused her cheeks,
her eyes were lowered, her hands hung at her sides, strength seemed to
abandon her, and her tears protested against the violence done to her
purity. Poussin cursed himself, and repented of his folly in bringing
this treasure from their peaceful garret. Once more he became a lover
rather than an artist; scruples convulsed his heart as he saw the eye
of the old painter regain its youth and, with the artist's habit,
disrobe as it were the beauteous form of the young girl. He was seized
with the jealous frenzy of a true lover.
"Gillette!" he cried; "let us go."
At this cry, with its accent of love, his mistress raised her eyes
joyfully and looked at him; then she ran into his arms.
"Ah! you love me still?" she whispered, bursting into tears.
Though she had had strength to hide her suffering, she had none to
hide her joy.
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