So the afternoon faded into evening, and the young crescent moon began to
show in the sky--a slender moon of silver, only born the night before.

"See, this is our moon," said the lady, "and as she waxes, so will our
love wax--but now she is young and fresh and fair, like it. Come, my Paul.
Let us go to our house; soon we shall dine, and I want to be beautiful for
you."

So they went in to their little hotel.

She was all in white when Paul found her in their inner salon, where they
were to dine alone, waited on only by Dmitry. Her splendid hair was bound
with a fillet of gold, and fell in two long strands, twisted with gold,
nearly to her knees. Her garment was soft and clinging, and unlike any
garment he had ever seen. They sat on a sofa together, the table in front
of them, and they ate slowly and whispered much--and before Paul could
taste his wine, she kissed his glass and sipped from it and made him do
the same with hers. The food was of the simplest, and the only things
exotic were the great red strawberries at the end.

Dmitry had left them, placing the coffee on the table as he went, and a
bottle of the rare golden wine.

Then this strange lady grew more tender still. She must lie in Paul's
arms, and he must feed her with strawberries. And the thought came to him
that her mouth looked as red as they.

To say he was intoxicated with pleasure and love is to put it as it was.
It seemed as if he had arrived at a zenith, and yet he knew there would be