t was a sunny, still, winter morning,
such as temperate countries never know. Desiree's eyes were bright
with youth and happiness. The cold air had slightly emphasized the rosy
colour of her cheeks.

Charles caught his breath at the sight of her, though she did not happen
to perceive him. He called a sleigh and drove to the barracks for his
own skates. Then to the Kuh-brucke, where a reach of the Mottlau was
cleared and kept in order for skating. He overpaid the sleigh-driver and
laughed aloud at the man's boorish surprise. There was no one so happy
as Charles Darragon in all the world. He was going to tell Desiree that
he loved her.

At first Desiree was surprised, as was only natural. For she had
not thought again of the pleasant young officer introduced to her by
Mathilde. They had not even commented on him after he had made his gay
bow and gone.

She had of course thought of these things in the abstract when her
busy mind had nothing more material and immediate to consider. She had
probably arranged how some abstract person should some day tell her of
his love and how she should make reply. But she had never imagined the
incident as it actually happened. She had never pictured a youth in a
gay uniform looking down at her with ardent eyes as he skated by her
side through the crisp still air, while the ice sang a high clear song
beneath their feet in accompaniment to his hurried laughing words of
protestation. He seemed to touch life lightly and to anticipate nothing
but happiness. In truth, it was difficult to be tragic on such a
morning.

These were the heedless days of the beginning of the century, when men
not only threw away their lives, but played ducks-and-drakes with their
chances of happiness in a manner quite incomprehensible to the careful
method of human thought to-day. Charles Darragon lived only in the
present moment. He was in love with her. Desiree must marry him.

It was quite different from what she had anticipated. She had looked
forward to such a moment with a secret misgiving. The abstract person
of her thoughts had always inspired her with a painful shyness and an
indefinite, breathless fear. But the lover who was here now in the flesh
by her side inspired none of these feelings. On the contrary, she felt
easy and natural and quite at home with him. There was nothing alarming
about his flushed face and laughing eyes. She was not at all afraid of
him. She even felt in some vague way older th