Her flute-like voice was like the music of a half-awakened song, and exquisitely moving; her words trailed slowly like speech asleep. Again he laughed. “The god of love? _Bien!_ Then what shall I have that is godlike?” “What you will,” she said. “You may ask.” For the innocent are trustful as doves, helpless as the least creatures, weak as the small birds among the little branches. He drew a quick breath. “Most of all things on earth I would have a kiss from your mouth. Shall I have it?” “Yes,” she said. “Take it!” and put up her lips. So their mouths met. A thousand tingling darts of fire pierced through her as his lips touched hers. Her heart was wrung by that first kiss; for an instant it stood still; the blood had left it, and had fled through her like flame; she almost swooned. For first passion is like the wind in the blossoming locust-tree, too sweet to be easily breathed or borne; youth’s first caress is almost an agony. Gabrielle gasped; his lips had burned on hers like a celestial fire. Both shook as love’s consuming flame rushed through them. As he to her was first, so she to him; each gave the other life’s immaculate gift, the unmeasured, unmeasurable fire of love’s first embrace, that passionate anguish of delicate, uncalculated delight, ardent and boundless. Their lips hurried to the meeting. How could they delay? Youth and love brook no delays. Yet, as she felt his lips upon her own, she regarded him with a writhen countenance of unqualified terror. Love comes to the maiden spirit with sudden tumult, and strikes it, not as a blithe discovery, or an all-Elysian joy, but as a birth and an agony, from which, if the soul survives, comes unspeakable happiness. His lips sought hers and seeking, met; in the meeting her soul flew out at her mouth. The world seemed suddenly remote, withdrawn into the depths of uncalculated space. There remained but these two young, love-stunned souls, groping to each other in the garden under the shadow of the great magnolia-trees. The enchantment of love was upon them. The happy girl lay close upon his heart, and all she said was, “Love me! Love me!” and, “If ever I cease to love you perdition take my soul!” he said. With utter confidence her eyes looked up into his, glowing with a passion that knows no change; and all she said, as she lay against his heart, was, “Love me! Only love me!” That is all a woman asks. Her fingers stroked his yellow hair; the mere touch thrilled her with unspeakable happiness.