Ah, he was young again! Songs flowed from his heart. He must not
philosophize. Love was eternal.
He would not think of his shrunken body, he would not dwell on his
wasted strength, new blood flowed in his veins.
V.
His good fairy came punctually at four. She tripped in like a fairy,
indeed, and leaned over him and kissed him on his forehead, while her
little hand rested in his. She, too seemed unconscious of the presence
of Marguerite in the adjoining room. She removed her wrap with a gesture
of determination—as if warding off an intruder—and settled down by his
couch, as if she meant to stay with him forever.
“Let me look at your sweet Swabian face,” he whispered and raised the
lifeless eyelid of his right eye. “You have a face of a Swabian
_Gelb-Vögelein_,” he breathed in her ear.
He was glad Marguerite had never learned German. He could now speak
freely with his Butterfly. And this was only the second time she had
been near him! He felt that he had always known her; everything about
her seemed strangely familiar to him; he felt as if he had met her in a
previous existence and now met her again after a lapse of many years;
and while his memory failed him as to her name and the place he had met
her, his feelings toward her were those of an old friend.
“You haven’t told me yet your right name,” he murmured, seeking her
hand, which she readily placed in his. “You elusive Butterfly!” He
emitted a soft laugh, “I never stopped thinking of you for a moment
since you left. I wondered if you were but a fairy of dreamland and
feared that I might wake at any moment and find you had vanished. What
is your name, fairy mine?”
“Call me Butterfly——”
“My Butterfly you shall always be, but what is your real name—who are
you? It seems to me I have known you for ages—I am beginning to believe
in the transmigration of souls—I feel that I met you before in a
different sphere——”
Her hand still resting in his she looked at his bloodless face
wistfully; she seemed absent minded, as if she had not heard his words,
and yet knew what he said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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