ut--'

'I should like to go,' I insisted, with a break in my voice.

'My God!' he exclaimed in a whisper, 'my God!'

I was sobbing violently, and my forehead was against the rough stuff
of his coat.

V

And one morning, long afterwards, I awoke very early, and the murmuring
of the leaves of the forest came through the open window. I had known
that I should wake very early, in joyous anticipation of that day. And
as I lay he lay beside me, lost in the dreamless, boyish, natural sleep
that he never sought in vain. He lay, as always, slightly on his right
side, with his face a little towards me--his face that was young again,
and from which the bane had passed. It was one of the handsomest,
fairest faces in the world, one of the most innocent, and one of the
strongest; the face of a man who follows his instincts with the direct
simplicity of a savage or a child, and whose instincts are sane and
powerful. Seen close, perfectly at rest, as I saw it morning after
morning, it was full of a special and mysterious attraction. The fine
curves of the nostrils and of the lobe of the ear, the masterful lines
of the mouth, the contours of the cheek and chin and temples, the tints
of the flesh subtly varying from rose to ivory, the golden crown of
hair, the soft moustache. I had learned every detail by heart; my eyes
had dwelt on them till they had become my soul's inheritance, till they
were mystically mine, drawing me ever towards them, as a treasure draws.
Gently moving, I would put my ear close, close, and listen to the breath
of life as it entered regularly, almost imperceptibly, vivifying that
organism in repose. There is something terrible in the still beauty of
sleep. It is as though the spiritual fabric hangs inexplicably over the
precipice of death. It seems impossible, or at least miraculous, that
the intake and the expulsion upon which existence depends should
continue thus, minute by minute, hour by hour. It is as though one stood
on the very confines of life, and could one trace but one step more, one
single step, one would unveil the eternal secret. I would not listen
long; the torture was too sweet, too exquisite, and I would gently slide
back to my place.... His hand was on the counterpane, near to my
breast--the broad hand of the pianist, with a wrist of incredible force,
and the fingers tapering suddenly at the end to a point. I let my own
descend on it as softly as snow. Ah, ravishing contact! He did n