names from both sorts of strollers.

I notice a woman who waits, standing on the river bank. Her silhouette
has pearly-gray sky behind it, so that she seems to support the
darkness. I wonder what her name may be, but only discover the beauty
of her feminine stillness. Not far from that consummate caryatid,
among the black columns of the tall trees laid against the lave of the
blue, and beneath their cloudy branches, there are mystic enlacements
which move to and fro; and hardly can one distinguish the two halves of
which they are made, for the temple of night is enclosing them.

The ancient hut of a fisherman is outlined on the grassy slope. Below
it, crowding reeds rustle in the current; and where they are more
sparse they fashion concentric orbs upon the gleaming, fleeing water.
The landscape has something exotic or antique about it. You are no
matter where in the world or among the centuries. You are on some
corner of the eternal earth, where men and women are drawing near to
each other, and cling together while they wrap themselves in mystery.

* * * * * *

Dreamily I ascend again towards the sounds and the swarming of the
town. There, the Sunday evening rendezvous,--the prime concern of the
men,--is less discreet. Desire displays itself more crudely on the
pavements. Voices chatter and laughter dissolves, even through closed
doors; there are shouts and songs.

Up there one sees clearly. Faces are discovered by the harsh light of
the gas jets and its reflection from plate-glass shop windows. Antonia
goes by, surrounded by men, who bend forward and look at her with