He had seen her coming, tall, slender, with a tiny sprig of _Olea fragrans_, the sign they had chosen, at her breast.

He had approached her, his head bared, and they had pressed one another's hands in silence.

He had signed to the porter, who was following with her travelling bag, to precede them.

They had followed slowly, their throats contracted by a nameless emotion.

She had been the first to murmur, in her sweet refined voice: "_Mon ami_." Then he had spoken in subdued tones, in broken sentences, of his infatuation, of his love, of his ecstasy, and had not noticed when they passed the hotel.