And the hand which stretched toward him, palm up, was a symbol of everything new and strange that he found in her.
He had seen it balled to a small, angry fist, brown and dangerous; he had seen it gripping the butt of a revolver, ready for the draw; he had seen it tugging at the reins and holding a racing horse in check with an ease which a man would envy; but never before had he seen it turned palm up, to his knowledge; and now, because he could not speak to her, according to his plan, he studied her thoroughly for the first time.
Slender and marvelously made was that hand.

The whole woman was in it, made for beauty, not for use.

It was all he could do to keep from exclaiming.
She made a quick step toward him, eager, uncertain: "Pierre, I thought you had left me--that you were gone, and angry." Something caught on fire in Pierre, but still he would say nothing.

He was beginning to feel a cruel pleasure in his victory, but it was not without a deep sense of danger.
She had laid aside her six-gun, but she had not abandoned it.

She had laid aside her anger, but she could resume it again as swiftly as she could take up her revolver.
She cried with a little burst of rage: "Pierre, you are making a game of me!" But seeing that he did not change she altered swiftly and caught his hand in both of hers.