The gold march of sunset passed quickly, the ragged curtains of mist
closed to. Soon Siegmund and Helena were shut alone within the dense
wide fog. She shivered with the cold and the damp. Startled, he took her
in his arms, where she lay and clung to him. Holding her closely, he
bent forward, straight to her lips. His moustache was drenched cold with
fog, so that she shuddered slightly after his kiss, and shuddered again.
He did not know why the strong tremor passed through her. Thinking it
was with fear and with cold, he undid his overcoat, put her close on his
breast, and covered her as best he could. That she feared him at that
moment was half pleasure, half shame to him. Pleadingly he hid his face
on her shoulder, held her very tightly, till his face grew hot, buried
against her soft strong throat.

'You are so big I can't hold you,' she whispered plaintively, catching
her breath with fear. Her small hands grasped at the breadth of his
shoulders ineffectually.

'You will be cold. Put your hands under my coat,' he whispered.

He put her inside his overcoat and his coat. She came to his warm breast
with a sharp intaking of delight and fear; she tried to make her hands
meet in the warmth of his shoulders, tried to clasp him.

'See! I can't,' she whispered.

He laughed short, and pressed her closer.

Then, tucking her head in his breast, hiding her face, she timidly slid
her hands along his sides, pressing softly, to find the contours of his