Book the Third - Chapter 2 A Dangerous Promise

And now who was so blessed as the fortunate Flodoardo? The victory
was his own, he had heard the wished-for sentence pronounced by the
lips of Rosabella. He raised her from the ground, and placed her on
a sofa. Her blue eyes soon unclosed themselves once more, and the
first object which they beheld was Flodoardo kneeling at her feet,
while with one arm he encircled her waist. Her head sank upon the
shoulder of the man for whom she had breathed so many sighs, who had
occupied so many of her thoughts by day, who had been present in so
many of her dreams by night.

As they gazed in silent rapture on each other, they forgot that they
were mortals; they seemed to be transported to a happier, to a
better world. Rosabella thought that the chamber in which she sat
was transformed into an earthly Paradise; invisible seraphs seemed
to hallow by their protecting presence the indulgence of her
innocent affection, and she poured forth her secret thanks to Him
who had given her a heart susceptible of love.

Through the whole course of man's existence, such a moment as this
occurs but once. Happy is he who sighs for its arrival; happy is he
who, when it arrives, has a soul worthy of its enjoyment; happy is
even he for whom that moment has long been passed, so it passed not
unenjoyed, for the recollection of it still is precious. Sage
philosophers, in vain do you assure us that the raptures of a moment
like this are mere illusions of a heated imagination, scarcely more
solid than an enchanting dream, which fades before the sunbeams of
truth and reason. Alas! does there exist a happiness under the moon
which owes not its charms in some degree to the magic of
imagination!