Eros went into the castle and fell upon the purple bed.
A single dove was expiring at the marble basin.
The strings of the lyre were all broken. . . .
Eros too felt that his life was leaving his body.
He raised his eyes, over which the film of death was stealing, and looked about the castle; the crystal crumbled off and split from the top to the bottom.
“Sacred powers!” prayed he, “forgive her as I forgive her, and love her till the End, as I shall and for ever. Let her find what she seeks; let her wanderings once come to an end; let her soar through the air, if she must, till she comes to the purest sphere. . . .” This sphere was the earth, the sweet Present, the little resting-point on which she could not wander, and thus felt within her the irresistible desire. . . .
“Sacred powers, let her one day find what her happiness is. Then, if it is not I . . . . Let her find . . . .”
His voice failed, his eyes opened as in a vision, and he whispered and finished his prayer: “. . . . find . . . . in the Future . . . .!”
