was filled by her talk of the Russian prisoners and Verdun.

She glanced at him from time to time, and would have grown more silent,
but by his light questions he kept her talking briskly on, offering her
no new proof, until she grew unsure and wondered whether she had been
mistaken; and, the hour striking for her supper in the town, she went to
it, filled anew with his charm and her anxiety. Other meetings came,
when, thrilling with the see-saw of belief and doubt, they watched each
other with absorbed attention, and in their fragile and unconfessed
relationship sometimes one was the victor and sometimes the vanquished.
Yet what was plain to the man who swept the mud from the streets was not
plain to them.

"Does he love me already?"

"Will she love me soon?"

When they saw other couples by the banks of the Moselle, Reason in a
convinced and careless voice said: "That is love!" But on coming towards
each other they were not sure at all, and each said of the other:
"To-morrow he may not meet me...." "To-morrow she will say she is busy
and it will not be true!"

When Fanny said, "He may not meet me," she was mad. How could he fail to
meet her when the rolling hours hung fire and buzzed about his head like
loaded bees, unable to proceed; when in a lethargy of vision he signed
his name at the bottom of the typewritten sheet, saying confusedly,
"What does she think? Does she think of me?"

When at last they met under the shadow of the Cathedral they would