seized with shivering. Then I obliterate myself in another corner,
equally forlorn. It seems as if Marie has gone away with all I have.
I am in mourning and I am all alone, because of her.




CHAPTER IV

MARIE


The seat leans against the gray wall, at the spot where a rose tree
hangs over it, and the lane begins to slope to the river. I asked
Marie to come, and I am waiting for her in the evening.

When I asked her--in sudden decision after so many days of
hesitation--to meet me here this evening, she was silent, astonished.
But she did not refuse; she did not answer. Some people came and she
went away. I am waiting for her, after that prayer.

Slowly I stroll to the river bank. When I return some one is on the
seat, enthroned in the shadow. The face is indistinct, but in the
apparel of mourning I can see the neck-opening, like a faint pale
heart, and the misty expansion of the skirt. Stooping, I hear her low
voice, "I've come, you see." And, "Marie!" I say.

I sit down beside her, and we remain silent. She is there--wholly.
Through her black veils I can make out the whiteness of her face and
neck and hands--all her beauty, like light enclosed.