It was on that dark and cold December night, amid the bitter wailing of the tocsin, that Miette and Silvere exchanged one of those kisses that bring all the heart's blood to the lips.
They remained silent, close to one another.

A gentle glow soon penetrated them, languor overcame them, and steeped them in feverish drowsiness.

They were quite warm at last, and lights seemed to flit before their closed eyelids, while a buzzing mounted to their brains.
This state of painful ecstasy, which lasted some minutes, seemed endless to them.

Then, in a kind of dream, their lips met.

The kiss they exchanged was long and greedy.