e
warmest evenings of spring-time, shown such deep tenderness as now, on
this fair autumn evening, when the plants and trees seemed to be bidding
one another goodnight ere they sank to sleep. And the scent of ripened
germs wafted the intoxication of desire athwart the scanty leaves.

'Do you hear? Do you hear?' faltered Albine in Serge's ear, when she had
let him slip upon the grass at the foot of the tree.

Serge was weeping.

'You see that the Paradou is not dead,' she added. 'It is crying out
to us to love each other. It still desires our union. Oh, do remember!
Clasp me to your heart!'

Serge still wept.

Albine said nothing more. She flung her arms around him; she pressed her
warm lips to his corpse-like face; but tears were still his only answer.

Then, after a long silence, Albine spoke. She stood erect, full of
contempt and determination.

'Away with you! Go!' she said, in a low voice.

Serge rose with difficulty. He picked up his breviary, which had fallen
upon the grass. And he walked away.

'Away with you! Go!' repeated Albine, in louder tones, as she followed
and drove him before her.

Thus she urged him on from bush to bush till she had driven him back
to the breach in the wall, in the midst of the stern-looking trees.
And there, as she saw Serge hesitate, with lowered head she cried out
violently:

'Away with you Go!'

And slowly she herself went back into the Paradou, without even turning
her head. Night was fast falling, and the garden was but a huge bier of
shadows.

XIII

Brother Archangias, aroused from his slumber, stood erect in the breach,
striking the stones with his stick and swearing abominably.

'May the devil break their legs for them! May he drag them to hell by
their feet, with their noses trailing in their abomination!'

But when he saw Albine driving away the priest, he stopped for a moment
in surprise. Then he struck the stones yet more vigorously, and burst
into a roar of laughter.

'Good-bye, you hussy! A pleasant journey to you! Go back to your mates
the wolves! A priest is no fit companion for such as you.'

Then, looking at Abbe Mouret, he growled:

'I knew you were in there. I saw that the stones had been disturbed....
Listen to me, Monsieur le Cure. Your sin has made me your superior, and
God tells you, through my mouth, that hell has no torments severe enough
for a priest who lets himself succumb to the lusts of the flesh. If He
were to pardon you n