rted off again with merry
ripples, past piles of big stones, into the shelter of some clump of
trees, and grew calmer once more. It exhibited every humour as it sped
along over soft sand or rocky boulders, over sparkling pebbles or greasy
clay, where leaping frogs made yellow puddles. Albine and Serge dabbled
about in delight, and even walked homewards through the stream in
preference to remaining on the bank. At every little island that divided
the current they landed. They conquered the savage spot or rested
beneath the lofty canes and reeds, which seemed to grow there expressly
as shelter for shipwrecked adventurers. Thus they made a delightful
progress, amused by the changing scenery of the banks, enlivened by the
merry humour of the living current.

But when they were about to leave the river, Serge realised that Albine
was still seeking something along the banks, on the island, even among
the plants that slept on the surface of the water. He was obliged to
go and pull her from the midst of a patch of water-lilies whose broad
leaves set _collerettes_ around her limbs. He said nothing, but shook
his finger at her. And at last they went home, walking along, arm in
arm, like young people after a day's outing. They looked at each other,
and thought one another handsomer and stronger than before, and of a
certainty their laughter had a different ring from that with which it
had sounded in the morning.

XI

'Are we never going out again?' asked Serge some days later.

And when he saw Albine shrug her shoulders with a weary air, he added,
in a teasing kind of way, 'You have got tired of looking for your tree,
then?'

They joked about the tree all day and made fun of it. It didn't exist.
It was only a nursery-story. Yet they both spoke of it with a slight
feeling of awe. And on the morrow they settled that they would go to
the far end of the park and pay a visit to the great forest-trees which
Serge had not yet seen. Albine refused to take anything along with them.
They breakfasted before starting and did not set off till late. The heat
of the sun, which was then great, brought them a feeling of languor,
and they sauntered along gently, side by side, seeking every patch of
sheltering shade. They lingered neither in the garden nor the orchard,
through which they had to pass. When they gained the shady coolness
beneath the big trees, they dropped into a still slower pace; and,
without a word, but with a deep sigh