rm cloak; and no doubt it is delightful to be able to kiss
one's sweetheart within those shrouding folds without danger of being
recognised. One couple is exactly like another. And to the belated
pedestrian, who sees the vague groups gliding hither and thither, 'tis
merely love passing, love guessed and scarce espied. The lovers
know they are safely concealed within their cloaks, they converse in
undertones and make themselves quite at home; most frequently they do
not converse at all, but walk along at random and in silence, content
in their embrace. The climate alone is to blame for having in the first
instance prompted these young lovers to retire to secluded spots in the
suburbs. On fine summer nights one cannot walk round Plassans without
coming across a hooded couple in every patch of shadow falling from the
house walls. Certain places, the Aire Saint-Mittre, for instance, are
full of these dark "dominoes" brushing past one another, gliding softly
in the warm nocturnal air. One might imagine they were guests invited
to some mysterious ball given by the stars to lowly lovers. When the
weather is very warm and the girls do not wear cloaks, they simply turn
up their over-skirts. And in the winter the more passionate lovers make
light of the frosts. Thus, Miette and Silvere, as they descended the
Nice road, thought little of the chill December night.

They passed through the slumbering suburb without exchanging a word,
but enjoying the mute delight of their warm embrace. Their hearts were
heavy; the joy which they felt in being side by side was tinged with the
painful emotion which comes from the thought of approaching severance,
and it seemed to them that they could never exhaust the mingled
sweetness and bitterness of the silence which slowly lulled their
steps. But the houses soon grew fewer, and they reached the end of the
Faubourg. There stands the entrance to the Jas-Meiffren, an iron gate
fixed to two strong pillars; a low row of mulberry-trees being visible
through the bars. Silvere and Miette instinctively cast a glance inside
as they passed on.

Beyond the Jas-Meiffren the road descends with a gentle slope to a
valley, which serves as the bed of a little rivulet, the Viorne, a brook
in summer but a torrent in winter. The rows of elms still extended the
whole way at that time, making the high road a magnificent avenue, which
cast a broad band of gigantic trees across the hill, which was planted
with corn and