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Rh And now?

Ah! you yourself have triumphed o'er yourself,

And now, I love you only for your soul!

Roxane!

Be happy. To be loved for beauty— A poor disguise that time so soon wears threadbare— Must be to noble souls—to souls aspiring— A torture. Your dear thoughts have now effacèd That beauty that so won me at the outset.

Now I see clearer—and I no more see it!

Oh!…

You are doubtful of such victory?

Roxane!

I see you cannot yet believe it.

Such love…?

I do not ask such love as that!

I would be loved more simply; for…