She smiled, and replied good-humoredly, “Not I, but perhaps you would--that is, thou wouldst, beloved,” she hastened to correct herself. “Yes, I’m really hungry.” He arose, took down her little traveling bag, which contained their lunch, and gave it to her. She opened it and took out the food that her mother had prepared. “Long life to my good mother,” blessed Eda, between bites, and her large black eyes grew larger and darker.... “Eat, Sandrovitch,” she urged Chayim. “Yes, my little dove. I’ll eat.” Eda burst into laughter. “You’re a perfect artist,” she whispered into his ear. “Why?” he asked.... “Good heavens!” she replied, feigning anger because he did not understand, and resumed her eating. At this point the gendarme returned, accompanied by an officer, who returned the passports. “Boruch Sandrovitch!” “Here,” answered Grossman, not without inner misgivings. The officer examined him closely, gave him his passport and turned to Eda. “And you?” “My husband,” she replied, pointing to Chayim. “All right,” assented the officer, genially. And Chayim Grossman, forgetting the revolution, the barricades, and his hatred of the army, felt deep in his heart a warm gratitude towards that young officer; a few moments later, when the gendarme and the official had gone, he remarked, “There are some good fellows among them, at that.” “Devil take them, every one,” dissented Eda, much to Chayim’s displeasure. The train began to move. “We’ve crossed the border!” she exclaimed joyously. “We’re husband and wife just the same.... Germany is no better than Russia.... We must continue to say ‘thou’ to one another.” “As you say,” answered Eda indifferently. “Let it be ‘thou.’” At each stop the train discharged a large number of passengers. Soon Eda and Chayim were the only occupants of their coach. “We are alone!” cried Chayim, in ecstasy. Eda could not understand his great joy. She looked upon him coldly, saying, “Now I may address you by your real name. And so, Mr. Grossman, what are your plans in Germany?” “Germany!” Chayim shuddered at the thought. “Germany?” He was silent. He was at a loss for reply. He suddenly recalled that the game was over; now he faced the real, hard, sad world of fact, and soon the real Sandrovitch would come to claim this beautiful being as his own, while, he, Chayim, in wretched loneliness, would wander aimlessly through the streets of Berlin. The recollection of all this gripped him, and he was overwhelmed by terror of the long, sinister future. He gazed out of the window. The night was black. Here and there a light would flash by in the darkness--a far-away gleam--would flash by and melt into the night. --Translated by Isaac Goldberg. THE KISS L. SHAPIRO