he gig at a run, and throwing birch leaves to the
breeze as kisses; he recalled her, again, in the twilight, laughing at
the oaths of Brother Archangias, her skirts skimming over the path like
a cloudlet of dust bowled along by the evening breeze. She was sixteen;
how strange she looked, with her rather elongated face! she savoured
of the open air, of the grass, of mother earth. And so accurate was his
recollection of her that he could once more see a scratch upon one of
her supple wrists, a rosy scar on her white skin. Why did she laugh like
that when she looked at him with her blue eyes? He was engulfed in her
laugh as in a sonorous wave which resounded and pressed close to him on
every side; he inhaled it, he felt it vibrate within him. Yes, all his
evil came from that laugh of hers which he had quaffed.

Standing in the middle of the room, with both windows open, he remained
shivering, seized with a fright which made him hide his face in his
hands. So this was the ending of the whole day; this evocation of a fair
girl, with a somewhat long face and eyes of blue. And the whole day
came in through the open windows. In the distance--the glow of those red
lands, the ardent passion of the big rocks, of the olive-trees springing
up amid the stones, of the vines twisting their arms by the roadside.
Nearer--the steam of human sweat borne in upon the air from Les Artaud,
the musty odour of the cemetery, the fragrance of incense from the
church, tainted by the scent of greasy-haired wenches. And there
was also the steaming muck-heap, the fumes of the poultry-yard, the
oppressing ferment of animal germs. And all these vapours poured in at
once, in one asphyxiating gust, so offensive, so violent, as to choke
him. He tried to close his senses, to subdue and annihilate them. But
Albine reappeared before him like a tall flower that had sprung and
grown beautiful in that soil. She was the natural blossom of that
corruption, delicate in the sunshine, her white shoulders expanding in
youthfulness, her whole being so fraught with the gladness of life, that
she leaped from her stem and darted upon his mouth, scenting him with
her long ripple of laughter.

A cry burst from the priest. He had felt a burning touch upon his lips.
A stream as of fire coursed through his veins. And then, in search
of refuge, he threw himself on his knees before the statuette of the
Immaculate Conception, exclaiming, with folded hands:

'Holy Virgin of Virg