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'"Nicholas," she said in a low voice.

'I stood for some reason confused and ashamed without answering her. She sat down on my shapeless mound of snow, and took me by the hand. Then she drew up her veil, and I saw her face pale and darkened, and her clear dark eyes gravely gazing into mine.

'"My poor, poor Nicholas," she said, and continued to gaze at me with her warm hand clasping mine. "What can I say? What can I do? Isn't it very, very lonely out here in the snow?"

'"I didn't feel lonely much," I answered, "I was making a—I was playing at building."

'"And I am sitting on your beautiful snow-house, then?" she said, smiling sadly, her hand trembling upon mine.

'"It isn't a house," I answered, turning away.

'She pressed my hand on the furs at her throat.

'"Poor cold, blue hands," she said. "Do you like playing alone?"

'"I like you being here," I answered. "I wish you would come always, or at least sometimes."

'She drew me close to her, smiling, and bent and kissed my head.

'"There," she said, "I am here now."