carriage and beat against the window-panes. Boris heaved a sigh, a deep sigh of contentment and relief. He drew Billy to him, pressed her tightly to him so that it almost pained her, and even shook her slightly.
" That's what I like, that's what I like! " he whispered. His voice no longer sounded tragic, but boyish and exuber- ant. And then he grew concerned : ' ' But you are cold, of course ; I have provided a cloak, I have provided every- thing." He wrapped her in a great silk cloak which smelled faintly of musk. " That feels good, doesn't it? — that is the cloak of old Mrs. von Worsky. My friend Ladislas gave it to me; you know he lives there on the border in Padony with his old mother : a good lad ! He has done much for us ; he knows everybody there on the border, he has smoothed our paths for us, and perhaps we shall see him before the night is done. Is the cloak warm? "
"Yes, " said Billy, " but it smells of Madame Bonne-chose."
Boris was vexed. " Curse it! It must not smell of Madame Bonnechose; nothing must smell of your home. That is gone, dropped out of sight."
"Across the border, you say? " asked Billy.
Boris's voice again took on a tortured accent as he replied, "Why — I don 't know, don 't ask me now — of course there's nothing else for you to do, everything will come out all right, but now we won't think at all. This is what I have longed for, this is what I had to have — I should have died if I had not had it — to sit here like this with you, close, close, and about us it is all quite dark and black; everything is gone, is blotted out, the stupid world beats on the carriage and cannot get in, and you and I are quite alone and have nothing to do but to be together. Do you feel that? Tell me." And again he pressed her tightly to him and shook her slightly.
" Yes, I think so," answered Billy, " but talk some more, talk some more like that."
