ame to obscure the February sun. But they could not
snuff out the one they carried in their hearts. Ah! all the bad weather
you could wish might be on hand: cold, hot, rain, wind, snow or sun!
Everything would be well, always. And even, things would be better. For
when happiness is in its period of growth the very finest of all the
days is always today.

The fog offered them a benevolent pretext not to separate during a
portion of the day. Less risk that way of being observed. In the morning
he went to wait for her at the arrival of the train and he accompanied
her in her walks about Paris. He had the collar of his overcoat turned
up. She wore a fur toque, her boa rolled in a chilly way up to her chin,
her little veil tightly tied on, which her lips pushed out and made in
it a small round relief. But the best veil was the moist network of the
protective mist. The mist was like a curtain of ashes, dense, grayish,
with phosphorescent spots. One could not see farther than ten yards. It
became thicker and thicker as they passed down the old streets
perpendicular to the Seine. Friendly fog, in which a dream stretches
itself between ice-cold linen and shudders with delight! They were like
the almond in the shell of the nut, like a flame enclosed in a dark
lantern. Pierre held the left arm of Luce closely pressed to him; they
walked with the same step, almost of the same stature, she a trifle
taller, twittering in a halfvoice, their figures quite close together;
he would have liked to kiss the little moist round on her veil.

She was going to the shopman who sold "false antiques"--who had ordered
them--to dispose of her "turnips," her "little beets" as she called
them. They were never in a great hurry to reach the place and without
doing so on purpose (at least that is what they insisted) took the
longest way about, putting their mistake to the debit of the fog. When
at last, nevertheless, the place came to meet them despite all the
efforts made to get it off the track, Pierre stayed at a distance. She
entered the shop. He waited at the corner of the street. He waited a
long time and he was not very warm. But he was glad to wait and not to
be warm and even to be bored, because it was all for her. At last she
came out again and quick, quick she skipped up to him, smiling, tender,
in great disquiet lest he be frozen. He saw in her eyes when she had
succeeded and then he rejoiced over it as if it were he who had made the
money.