k.

As soon as he could get away unnoticed in the bustle of the busy
riverside, Willems crossed the river on his way to the place where he
had met Aissa. He threw himself down in the grass by the side of the
brook and listened for the sound of her footsteps. The brilliant light
of day fell through the irregular opening in the high branches of the
trees and streamed down, softened, amongst the shadows of big trunks.
Here and there a narrow sunbeam touched the rugged bark of a tree with a
golden splash, sparkled on the leaping water of the brook, or rested
on a leaf that stood out, shimmering and distinct, on the monotonous
background of sombre green tints. The clear gap of blue above his head
was crossed by the quick flight of white rice-birds whose wings flashed
in the sunlight, while through it the heat poured down from the sky,
clung about the steaming earth, rolled among the trees, and wrapped up
Willems in the soft and odorous folds of air heavy with the faint scent
of blossoms and with the acrid smell of decaying life. And in that
atmosphere of Nature's workshop Willems felt soothed and lulled into
forgetfulness of his past, into indifference as to his future. The
recollections of his triumphs, of his wrongs and of his ambition
vanished in that warmth, which seemed to melt all regrets, all hope,
all anger, all strength out of his heart. And he lay there, dreamily
contented, in the tepid and perfumed shelter, thinking of Aissa's eyes;
recalling the sound of her voice, the quiver of her lips--her frowns and
her smile.

She came, of course. To her he was something new, unknown and strange.
He was bigger, stronger than any man she had seen before, and altogether
different from all those she knew. He was of the victorious race. With
a vivid remembrance of the great catastrophe of her life he appeared to
her with all the fascination of a great and dangerous thing; of a terror
vanquished, surmounted, made a plaything of. They spoke with just such
a deep voice--those victorious men; they looked with just such hard
blue eyes at their enemies. And she made that voice speak softly to her,
those eyes look tenderly at her face! He was indeed a man. She could not
understand all he told her of his life, but the fragments she understood
she made up for herself into a story of a man great amongst his own
people, valorous and unfortunate; an undaunted fugitive dreaming of
vengeance against his enemies. He had all the attractiveness