Gaston Leroux,
The Bride of the Sun
(1915)
“ For Maria-Teresa is there, leaning out as she used to, turning her sweet face as she used to.... How pale she is, how diaphanous; her well-remembered gestures are no more than the ghosts of those gestures!... He hardly dared breathe, fearing that the vision would vanish at the sound of his voice.... He advanced cautiously, stealthily, like a child stalking a butterfly. "Dick!" "Maria-Teresa!" They are in each other's arms. The cry which has come from those pale lips is a living one. ”
