Then she saw a village—there were always houses passing.
This was an old world she was still journeying through, winter-heavy and dreary.
There was plough-land and pasture, and copses of bare trees, copses of bushes, and homesteads naked and work-bare.
No new earth had come to pass.
She looked at Birkin's face.
It was white and still and eternal, too eternal.
She linked her fingers imploringly in his, under the cover of her rug.
His fingers responded, his eyes looked back at her.
How dark, like a night, his eyes were, like another world beyond!
Oh, if he were the world as well, if only the world were he!
If only he could call a world into being, that should be their own world!
The Belgians left, the train ran on, through Luxembourg, through Alsace-Lorraine, through Metz.
But she was blind, she could see no more.
Her soul did not look out.
They came at last to Basle, to the hotel.
It was all a drifting trance, from which she never came to.
They went out in the morning, before the train departed.
She saw the street, the river, she stood on the bridge.
But it all meant nothing.
She remembered some shops—one full of pictures, one with orange velvet and ermine.
But what did these signify?—nothing.
She was not at ease till they were in the train again.
Then she was relieved.
So long as they were moving onwards, she was satisfied.
They came to Zurich, then, before very long, ran under the mountains, that were deep in snow.
At last she was drawing near.
This was the other world now.
Innsbruck was wonderful, deep in snow, and evening.
They drove in an open sledge over the snow: the train had been so hot and stifling.
And the hotel, with the golden light glowing under the porch, seemed like a home.
They laughed with pleasure when they were in the hall.
The place seemed full and busy.
'Do you know if Mr and Mrs Crich—English—from Paris, have arrived?' Birkin asked in German.
The porter reflected a moment, and was just going to answer, when Ursula caught sight of Gudrun sauntering down the stairs, wearing her dark glossy coat, with grey fur.
'Gudrun!
Gudrun!' she called, waving up the well of the staircase. 'Shu-hu!'
Gudrun looked over the rail, and immediately lost her sauntering, diffident air.
Her eyes flashed.
'Really—Ursula!' she cried.
And she began to move downstairs as Ursula ran up.
They met at a turn and kissed with laughter and exclamations inarticulate and stirring.
'But!' cried Gudrun, mortified. 'We thought it was TOMORROW you were coming!
I wanted to come to the station.'
'No, we've come today!' cried Ursula. 'Isn't it lovely here!'
'Adorable!' said Gudrun. 'Gerald's just gone out to get something.
Ursula, aren't you FEARFULLY tired?'
'No, not so very.
But I look a filthy sight, don't I!'
'No, you don't.
You look almost perfectly fresh.