"Sainte Madeleine is her name."
"Ah!" she said.
The sound of uneasy breathing arose between the groans of the wind. After a long pause Geoffrey spoke:
"In sleep I may lose what I am holding."
"Twist it about your fingers," said a whisper.
"Still, I may lose it. You will draw it away from me when you turn."
"Lie upon it."
"My hair is also long. I am tying yours to mine."
"I had thought of that," she murmured.
Another period of silence. Then, in turning, Geoffrey's lips pressed upon the rich coil, and left it with a kiss. There came a little movement and an almost soundless whisper: