rated us. It seemed bliss to live and to float thus,
and to dream and to feel by one's side a young woman sympathetic and
beautiful.

I was somewhat affected, somewhat agitated, somewhat intoxicated by
the pale brightness of the night and the consciousness of my proximity
to a lovely woman.

"Come and sit beside me," she said.

I obeyed.

She went on:

"Recite some verses for me."

This appeared to be rather too much. I declined; she persisted. She
certainly wanted to have the utmost pleasure, the whole orchestra of
sentiment, from the moon to the rhymes of poets. In the end, I had to
yield, and, as if in mockery, I recited for her a charming little poem
by Louis Bouilbet, of which the following are a few strophes:

"I hate the poet who with tearful eye
Murmurs some name while gazing tow'rds a star,
Who sees no magic in the earth or sky,
Unless Lizette or Ninon be not far.

"The bard who in all Nature nothing sees
Divine, unless a petticoat he ties
Amorously to the branches of the trees
Or nightcap to the grass, is scarcely wise.

"He has not heard the eternal's thunder tone,
The voice of Nature in her various moods,
Who cannot tread the dim ravines alone,
And of no woman dream 'mid whispering woods."

I expected some reproaches. Nothing of the sort. She murmured:

"How true it is!"

I remained stupefied. Had she understood?

Our boat was gradually drawing nearer to the bank, and got entangled
under a willow which impeded its progress. I drew my arm around my
companion's waist, and very gently moved my lips towards her neck. But
she repulsed me with an abrupt, angry movement:

"Have done, pray! You are rude!"

I tried to draw her towards me. She resisted, caught hold of the tree,
and was near flinging us both into the water. I deemed it the prudent
course to cease my importunities.

She said:

"I would rather have you capsized. I feel so happy. I want to
dream--that is so nice." Then, in a slightly malicious tone, she
added:

"Have you, then, already forgotten the verses you recited for me just
now?"

She was right. I became silent.

She went on:

"Come! row!"

And I plied the oars once more.

I began to find the night long and to see the absurdity of my conduct.

My companion said to me:

"Will you make me a promise?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"To remain quiet, well-behaved, and discreet, if I permit you--"

"What? Say wh