here was one. If she gave him her hand, it seemed to him that there was
something unreal about it. If he requested that she look at him, she did
so, but it seemed that her glance was divided, half going to the left,
half to the right, neither meeting his. If she came so close to him that
their arms touched, he had the feeling that he could not take hold of
her if he wished to.

He struggled against the enticement that lay in this peculiarity.

Her presence ennobled his ambition and dispelled his whims. She gave him
the beautifully formed cloud, the tree covered with young foliage, the
moon that rises up over the roofs of the houses--she gave him the whole
earth over which he was hastening, a stranger to peace, unfamiliar with
contentment.

He cherished no suspicion; he had no foreshadowing of his fate. And
Eleanore was not afraid of him; she, too, was without a sense of danger.

III

One Sunday afternoon in April they took a walk out into the country.
Gertrude had been suffering for weeks from lassitude and could not go
with them.

Eleanore was a superb walker. It gave Daniel extreme pleasure to walk
along with her, keeping step, moving hastily. The quick movement
increased his susceptibility to the charm of the changing landscapes. It
was quite different when he walked with Gertrude. She was slow, given to
introspection, thoughtful, and not very strong.

In the course of an hour clouds gathered in the sky, the sun
disappeared, big drops began to fall. Eleanore had taken neither
umbrella nor rain coat along; she began to walk more rapidly. If they
tried, they could reach the inn beyond the forest, and find shelter from
the storm.

Just as they slipped through the crowd that had hurried up the road to
the same refuge and entered the inn, the sluices of heaven seemed to
open, and a cloud-burst followed. They were standing in the hall.
Eleanore was warm, and did not wish to remain in the draught. They went
into the restaurant; it was so full that they had considerable trouble
to find seats. A working man, his wife, and four sickly-looking children
squeezed up more closely together; the two youngest boys gave them their
chairs and went to look for others.

The clouds hung low, causing premature darkness. Lamps were lighted, and
their odour mingled freely with the other odours of this overcrowded
room. A few village musicians played some unknown piece; the eyes of the
workingman