ght like curtains of black
velvet. At times lightning flashes abruptly cast a bluish light into
this darkness. It began to rain heavily; a loud, uniform rushing sound
enveloped the riding couple, and the drops drummed on the roof of the
carriage and beat against the window-panes. Boris heaved a sigh, a deep
sigh of contentment and relief. He drew Billy to him, pressed her
tightly to him so that it almost pained her, and even shook her
slightly.

"That's what I like, that's what I like!" he whispered. His voice no
longer sounded tragic, but boyish and exuberant. And then he grew
concerned: "But you are cold, of course; I have provided a cloak, I
have provided everything." He wrapped her in a great silk cloak which
smelled faintly of musk. "That feels good, doesn't it?--that is the
cloak of old Mrs. von Worsky. My friend Ladislas gave it to me; you
know he lives there on the border in Padony with his old mother: a good
lad! He has done much for us; he knows everybody there on the border,
he has smoothed our paths for us, and perhaps we shall see him before
the night is done. Is the cloak warm?"

"Yes," said Billy, "but it smells of Madame Bonnechose."

Boris was vexed. "Curse it! It must not smell of Madame Bonnechose;
nothing must smell of your home. That is gone, dropped out of sight."

"Across the border, you say?" asked Billy.

Boris's voice again took on a tortured accent as he replied, "Why--I
don't know, don't ask me now--of course there's nothing else for you to
do, everything will come out all right, but now we won't think at all.
This is what I have longed for, this is what I had to have--I should
have died if I had not had it--to sit here like this with you, close,
close, and about us it is all quite dark and black; everything is gone,
is blotted out, the stupid world beats on the carriage and cannot get
in, and you and I are quite alone and have nothing to do but to be
together. Do you feel that? Tell me." And again he pressed her tightly
to him and shook her slightly.

"Yes, I think so," answered Billy, "but talk some more, talk some more
like that."

"Why, what is our whole life for," pursued Boris, "but for such
moments as these, when we can forget everything. Isn't it this for
which we toil, for which we humble ourselves and borrow money, so that
for a short time all burdens drop from us and we feel one thing and
think one thing: Billy!" He kissed her very firmly on the lips. "You
feel, don't you,