ing. They were near the Ponds. She ceased speaking; and they walked on silently . . .
"I suggested to Henri," she repeated, at last, "that we should . . ."
The word died away on her lips, but he understood. They were both silent, both walked on without speaking. He led the way; and it seemed to her that they were making for a goal, she knew not where, which he would know . . .
At last, she said:
"I wanted . . . as you are our friend . . . to tell you . . ."
He was determined to make her say the word:
"You suggested what?"
"That we should be divorced . . ."
They walked on for some minutes. Suddenly, round about her, she saw the dunes, the distant sea, the sea which she had divined the night before, over which the pale gleams, the lightning-flashes had revealed themselves. Now, the sky overhead was revealed, a vague opal, with white clouds curling like steam . . .
"I suggested that we should be divorced," she repeated.
He drew a breath, in the salt breath of the sea, even as he had breathed in the Alps, when contemplating those ice-bound horizons. And he remembered . . . that vision . . . and the yearning . . . for the one soul . . . the meeting with which would
