"You stab me, Seraphita, when you speak like this. It wounds me to
hear you apply the dreadful knowledge with which you strip from all
things human the properties that time and space and form have given
them, and consider them mathematically in the abstract, as geometry
treats substances from which it extracts solidity."

"Well, I will respect your wishes, Wilfrid. Let the subject drop. Tell
me what you think of this bearskin rug which my poor David has spread
out."

"It is very handsome."

"Did you ever see me wear this 'doucha greka'?"

She pointed to a pelisse made of cashmere and lined with the skin of
the black fox,--the name she gave it signifying "warm to the soul."

"Do you believe that any sovereign has a fur that can equal it?" she
asked.

"It is worthy of her who wears it."

"And whom you think beautiful?"

"Human words do not apply to her. Heart to heart is the only language
I can use."

"Wilfrid, you are kind to soothe my griefs with such sweet words
--which you have said to others."