"
A sort of joy had leapt into his face as he dwelt on this idea of
nothingness, and he added:
"It is something like your soul, my lady of the feathers. Do you hear
me?"
"Yes. I hear!"
"But the will that ousted it gained in power by that triumph. Totally
self-satisfied, desirous of being only that which it is, having no enemy
of yearning disappointment with itself in its camp, it can do what will
never did before. It can lead captive the soul that was formerly the
captive of the soul that it drove away to die. Like an enemy it has
seized its opponent's camp, and the slave dwelling in that camp is now
its slave forever."
As Valentine spoke he seemed to become almost intoxicated with the
thoughts conjured up by his own words. His blue eyes blazed with a fury
of shining excitement. His white cheeks were suffused with blood.
"I have made myself, my will, a god!" he exclaimed passionately.
At the words the lady of the feathers moved suddenly forward on the sofa.
"What--_you_!" she said.
The last word was uttered with an intensity that could surely only
spring from something near akin to comprehension, if not from actual
comprehension itself. It certainly startled Valentine, or seemed to
startle him.
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