They clasped each other’s hands and the peace of their mind was like the languid moment, still incredible, when a bodily pain has abruptly ceased to torture.
The sound of rolling carriages spread in all directions. Occasional laughter flared up among the human voices, dying away at a distance. After that, only the snow was falling in slow, shiny flakes. By tacit agreement they started, side by side, into the great whiteness.
Anne did not feel the cold. The furs slid down her bare shoulders and her low shoes sank deep into the snow. Illey gazed at her in rapture, then pulled himself together. He wanted to appear calm, but his voice was strangely changed.
“When I saw the posters of the concert, I began to hope that we might meet. It all happened more wonderfully than my wildest hopes.”
Anne too tried to control herself.
“So you really did not go for the music’s sake?” she asked in a whisper, smiling.
“I never go to concerts,” said Illey candidly. “I don’t understand the higher music.”
Anne turned to him anxiously:
“Then you did not understand what I sang to you?”
“I did not understand the music, but I understood her who produced it.”