"Is it you!"
"Yes, it is I," she murmured, caressingly, the exhalation of her breath warm on my ear.
She put her arms around my neck, so that her delicate wrists crossed beneath my chin.
That furtive act, the laugh that rippled in her voice and betrayed her infantile joy at having startled me, that manner of embracing me, all those agile graces recalled to me the Juliana of the old days, the young and tender companion of the happy years, the delicious creature with the long tresses, merry laughter, and girlish ways. An effluvium of the old-time happiness enveloped me, on the threshold of this house filled with memories.
"Shall I open?" I asked.
My hand rested on the key, ready to turn it.
"Open," she answered.
She did not loosen her hold on me, and I continued to feel her breath on my neck.
At the creaking made by the key in the lock, her arms clasped me more firmly; and she pressed against me, communicating to me her tremor. The swallows warbled over our heads, and their light twitterings contrasted, so to speak, with the depth of the silence.
"Go in," she murmured, without loosing her hold on me. "Go in, go in."