"There is no death!" she whispered, her face against his. "There is neither death nor sorrow nor dying."
The clamour in the street died out; the wind was still; the pest flag under the window hung motionless.
He sighed; his eyes closed.
She stretched out beside him, her body against his, her bare arms around his neck.
His heart fluttered; stopped; fluttered; was silent; moved once again; ceased.
"Jack!"
Again his heart stirred—or was it her own?
When the morning sun broke over the ramparts of Sedan she fell asleep in his arms, lulled by the pulsations of his heart.