We are resting, our eyes closed; the quietude is great about our bed. Ineffable summer nights! But she, thinking that I sleep, puts her warm hand on my arm.
She murmurs: "Bilitis, are you asleep?" My heart pounds, but without answering I breathe as calmly as a sleeping woman in her dreams. Then she begins to speak:
"Since you cannot hear me," she says, "Ah! how I love you!" And she repeats my name: "Bilitis . . . Bilitis . . . " And she strokes me with the tips of trembling fingers:
"This mouth is mine! and mine alone! Is there another in the world as lovely? Ah! my happiness, my happiness! These naked arms are mine, this neck, this hair. . ."