It was three hours’ ride to the border. Chayim sat the whole time at Eda’s side, and wishing to become more intimate, he suddenly turned to her and suggested, “I think it would help to avert suspicion on our journey, if I were to use ‘thou’ in addressing you, and you likewise with me.” Having offered this short, practical suggestion he turned red, and his heart beat wildly, as he waited for her approval. “I really am in doubt,” she hesitated. “In high society man and wife use ‘you’ in addressing each other.” “But that might arouse suspicion in our case--I mean, that ‘thou’ would be more to our purpose,” urged Chayim. She finally consented. Unfortunately, however, Chayim could find no opportunity for using the coveted familiar pronoun. At last the longed-for chance arrived. He was gazing out of the window. The sun, like a blood-red disc, was setting behind a thick forest, gilding the tree-tops with its dying splendor. Chayim, entranced by the scene, cried out, “Just see, Eda, see thou, how beautiful!” Eda arose and looked through the window. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. Chayim was right beside her, but instead of looking at the beautiful sunset he sought to penetrate Eda Sandrovitch’s face, and he grew sad. A moment later and the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, as if the black forest had engulfed it. They sat down and Eda began: “You know--” “Thou knowest,” corrected Chayim. “We might betray ourselves.” “Don’t worry on that score,” she replied, stubbornly. “You know that we’re almost at the border.” “We should be all the more careful for that very reason. So then, what dost thou say, Eda?” Eda smiled good-naturedly, replying, “If you desire to play the game, by all means, with the greatest of pleasure!” And then, more playfully, she added, “I say, my dear Sandrovitch, we’re soon at the border.” “What of that, darling Eda?” He smiled in return, clasping her velvety little hand. She did not withdraw her hand. This made Chayim bolder. He pressed closer to her, ever so close, and whispered tenderly, “What a sweet, darling child thou art!” She gazed at him with her large black eyes, in silence. At last they pulled into Alexandrovna, the border station. The train suddenly became alive with nervous activity. A tall gendarme with forbidding mustache entered, crying out in official tones, “Passports!” Chayim Grossman pulled out his passport and gave it to the gendarme. “And you?” asked the latter in Russian, turning to Eda. “She is my wife,” answered Chayim, in the same language. “Very well,” was the response, as if approving the match. Chayim felt distinctly flattered with the approval. The gendarme collected the passports of the other occupants and then left, locking the door of the coach. “And now we are in very truth man and wife,” whispered Chayim passionately to Eda. “Yes, of course,” Eda nodded. Her acquiescence made Chayim very happy, and he turned boldly to her, asking tenderly, “Wouldst thou have a bite to eat?”