’ Ignoring this, the major slipped his hands about her waist and lifted her to her feet. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred.
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