strangers, stood a young girl who had just entered. At first all
he saw of her was a delicate profile under the shadow of her hat, one
blonde curl on a somewhat thin cheek, a highlight perched upon the
smooth cheekbone, the fine line of nose and lifted upper lip, and her
mouth, slightly parted, still quivering a little from her sudden rush
into the car. Through the portals of his eyes into his heart she
entered, she entered all complete; and the door closed. Noises from
without fell to nothing. Silence. Peace. She was there.

She did not look at him. In fact she did not even know as yet of his
existence. And yet she was there inside him. He held her image there,
speechless, crushed in his arms, and he dared not breathe for fear that
his breath might ruffle her.

A jostling at the next station. Noisily talking, the crowd threw
themselves into the already packed carriage. Pierre found himself shoved
and carried along by the human wave. Above the tunnel vault, in the city
up there, certain dull reports. The train started up again. At that
moment a man quite out of his senses, who covered up his face with his
hands, came running down the stairway of the station and rolled down on
the floor at the bottom. There was just enough time to catch sight of
the blood that trickled through his fingers.... Then the tunnel and
darkness again. In the car frightened outcries: "The Gothas are at it
again!" During the general excitement which fused these closely packed
bodies into one, his hand had seized the hand that touched him. And
when he raised his eyes he saw it was She.

She did not pull her hand away. At the pressure of his fingers hers
replied in a sympathy of emotion, drawing together a bit, and then
letting themselves go, soft and burning, without budging. Thus the two
remained in the protective darkness, their hands like two birds hid in
the same nest; and the blood from their hearts ran in a single flood
through the warmth of their palms. They said no word to one another. His
mouth almost touched the curl on her cheek and the tip of her ear. They
did not make a gesture. She did not look at him. Two stations beyond,
she loosed her hand from his, which did not keep her, slipped between
the bodies and left without having looked at him.

When she had vanished it occurred to him to follow.... Too late. The
train was in motion. At the next stop he ran up to the surface. There he
found the nocturnal cold, the unseen touches of so