And he? You old worn people of the world, who perhaps are reading, think what all this was to Paul--his young strong life vibrating to passionate joys, his imagination kindled, his very being uplifted and thrilled with happiness! His charming soul expanded, he found himself saying gracious tender phrases to her. Every moment he was growing more passionately in love, and in each new mood she seemed the more divine. Not one trace of her waywardness of the day before remained. Her eyes, as they glanced at him from under her hat, were bashful and sweet, no look of the devil to provoke a saint. She talked gently. He must take her to the place where she had peeped at him through the trees. And-- "Oh! Paul!" she said. "If you had known that day, how you tempted me, looking up at me, your whole soul in your eyes! I had to run, run, run!" "And now I have caught you, darling mine," said Paul. "But you were wrong. I had no soul--it is you who are giving me one now." They sat on the bench where he had sat. She was getting joy out of the colour of the moss, the tints of the beeches, every little shade and shape of nature, and letting Paul see with her eyes. And all the while she was nestling near him like a tender ring-dove to her mate. Paul's heart swelled with exultation. He felt good, as if he could be kind to every one, as if his temper were a thing to be ashamed of, and all his faults, as if for ever he must be her own true knight and defender, and show her he was worthy of this great gift and joy. And ah! how could he put into words his tender worshipping love? So the afternoon faded into evening, and the young crescent moon began to show in the sky--a slender moon of silver, only born the night before. "See, this is our moon," said the lady, "and as she waxes, so will our love wax--but now she is young and fresh and fair, like it. Come, my Paul. Let us go to our house; soon we shall dine, and I want to be beautiful for you." So they went in to their little hotel. She was all in white when Paul found her in their inner salon, where they were to dine alone, waited on only by Dmitry. Her splendid hair was bound with a fillet of gold, and fell in two long strands, twisted with gold, nearly to her knees. Her garment was soft and clinging, and unlike any garment he had ever seen. They sat on a sofa together, the table in front of them, and they ate slowly and whispered much--and before Paul could taste his wine, she kissed his glass and sipped from it and made him do the same with hers. The food was of the simplest, and the only things exotic were the great red strawberries at the end. Dmitry had left them, placing the coffee on the table as he went, and a bottle of the rare golden wine. Then this strange lady grew more tender still. She must lie in Paul's arms, and he must feed her with strawberries. And the thought came to him that her mouth looked as red as they.