.

CHOOSING A BRIDE.
Three days have passed.

Night is closing, in an apartment which has been mine since yesterday.

Yves and I, on the first floor, move restlessly over the white mats, striding to and fro in the great bare room, of which the thin, dry flooring cracks beneath our footsteps; we are both rather irritated by prolonged expectation.

Yves, whose impatience shows itself more freely, from time to time looks out of the window.