A little black-gloved hand grasped the knob, and a woman stole into the room, with a questioning face.
She must have been a few steps behind him in the street.

They had not wished to enter the room together, in which they both sought refuge to escape pursuit.
She closed the door, and leaned her whole weight against it, to close it still tighter.

Slowly she turned her head to him, paralysed for a moment, it seemed to me, with fear that it was not he.

They stared into each other's faces.

A cry burst from them, passionate, restrained, almost mute, echoing from one to the other.