hands to her breast. She felt that she was such a sinner and criminal that nothing remained for her except to crouch down and beg for forgiveness; now there was nothing else for her in life but him, so that to him alone she turned her prayer for forgiveness. As she looked at him she felt her humiliation physically, and she could say no more.
But he felt exactly as a murderer must feel when he sees the lifeless body of his victim. This lifeless body was their love—the first epoch of their love. There was something horrible and repulsive in the recollection of the terrible price that they had paid for this shame. The shame in the presence of their spiritual nakedness oppressed her and took hold of him. But in spite of all the horror felt by the murderer in presence of the body of his victim, he must cut it in pieces, must bury it, must take advantage of his crime.
And, as with fury and passion the murderer throws himself on the dead body and drags it and cuts it, so he covered her face and shoulders with kisses. She held his hand and did not stir.
"Yes, these kisses were what had been bought with this shame! Yes, and this hand, which will always be mine, is the hand of my accomplice."
She raised his hand and kissed it. He fell on his knees, and tried to look into her face; but she hid it and said nothing. At last, as if trying to control herself, she made an effort to rise, and pushed him away. Her face was still as beautiful as ever; even so much the more was it pitiful.
"All is ended," said she; "I have nothing but thee, remember that."
"I cannot help remembering it, since it is my life. A moment before this happiness ...."
"What happiness?" she cried, with contempt and horror. And horror involuntarily seized him also, "For God's sake, not a word, not a word more."
She quickly got up and moved away from him, and with a strange expression of hopeless despair, such as he had never seen before, on her face, she stood aloof from
