“Just one that I mean—and no explanation.”
“... Peter, our last day together—all shadowy background to be put away—”
“And breakfast to occupy the immediate fore.”
He went out into the street to purchase certain essentials, found some tall white flowers, and a copper vase to put them in. They were hungry, after the long night, and their happiness was the exquisite moments which they found between the darkenings. They would not permit the parting altogether to pervade. Her face was lustrous white; her eyes made him think of those gray days on the ocean, in which one can see great distances. More of a girl than ever she seemed to him, with her black hair combed loosely back and hanging in a pair of braids. The flowers stood tall between them.
“War weather like this makes one grow quickly,” he said. “To think how easy and content we thought ourselves—even three days ago. Now, I want to say, 'Come, Berthe—come with me....' I want to take you to some quiet place, back in the States, in the country by the water. Yes, north country—by some lake that would be frozen when we got there. That's where the silence is, that winter silence. A cabin, a roaring fire—you and I together, alone. It seems you would be safe there, and I could begin to be satisfied—“.
“Peter, Peter—don't make heavens to-day!”
“It's your particular heaven. No other would ever have made me think of winter—of something austere and silent for you to ignite.”
“I wonder, shall it ever come to me—to have peace and abundance of nature? I have always had the cities, and now it is more war again—the opposite to nature—but I shall think every hour of that winter cabin. That is my place,” she added. “Another would have made you think of the South—or the seas. I shall think of your being there with me—every day—no matter where I am—-”
Her words had grown vague to his ears. Her lips were so red that for the time he saw them only. He arose and went to her around the tall flowers.
“What did you say?” he asked, after a moment.