All was so soft, so sleepy, so vague, it seemed to Paul as he rode slowly along, himself almost asleep, as if the Night had lost the blood he had caused to flow, and the sweet exhaustion that followed had from the lady's brain wandered out over Nature herself, as she sank, a lovelier Katadyomene, into the hushed sea of pain-won repose.
Was he in love with her?
I do not know.

I could tell, if I knew what being in love is.

I think no two loves were ever the same since the creation of the world.

I know that something had passed from her eyes to his--but what?
He may have been in love with her already; but ere long my reader may be more sure than I that he was not.

The Maker of men alone understands His awful mystery between the man and the woman.