"Treine," he calls, but so low, it could not wake her. He goes up to her bed and bends over her.
Her face smiles, it looks so sweet—she must be dreaming of something pleasant—how beautifully she smiles—it would be a shame to wake her! Only her little head will hurt—öi, what hair she must have had—he has looked at her curls, long, black hair—all shorn now[140]—her cap is a thin embroidered one, with holes—she is a beauty! He smiles, too.
But she must be woke. He bends lower and feels her breath—he draws it in hastily—she attracts him like a magnet—half-unconsciously he touches her lips with his own.
"I wasn't asleep at all!" she says suddenly, and opens a pair of mischievous, laughing eyes. She throws her arms round his shoulders and pulls him down to her. "Never mind," she whispers into his ear, and her voice is very sweet, "never mind! God is good and will help us—was it not He who brought us together? He will not forsake us. There will be firing and lights—there will be enough to live on—it will be all right—everything will be right—won't it, Yössele? Yes, it will!"
He makes no reply. He is trembling all over.
She pushes him a little further away.
"Look at me, Yössele!" it occurs to her to say.
Yössele wishes to obey, and cannot.
"Poor wretch," she says gently, "not accustomed to it yet—ha?"
He wants to hide his head in her breast, but she will not allow him to.