I was working on the declivity which led to the Val d'Etretat. This
particular morning, I had, by chance, the sort of floating vapor, which
was necessary for my purpose. Suddenly, an object appeared in front of
me, a kind of phantom; it was Miss Harriet. On seeing me, she took to
flight. But I called after her saying: "Come here, come here,
Mademoiselle, I have a nice little picture for you."

She came forward, though with seeming reluctance. I handed her my
sketch. She said nothing, but stood for a long time, motionless,
regarding it; and, suddenly, she burst into tears. She wept
spasmodically, like men who have been struggling hard against shedding
tears, but who can do so no longer, and abandon themselves to grief,
though still resisting. I got up, trembling, moved myself by the sight
of a sorrow I did not comprehend, and I took her by the hand with an
impulse of brusque affection, a true French impulse which impels one
quicker than one thinks.

She let her hands rest in mine for a few seconds, and I felt them quiver
as if her whole nervous system was twisting and turning. Then she
withdrew her hands abruptly, or, rather tore them out of mine.

I recognized that shiver, as soon as I had felt it; I was deceived in
nothing. Ah! the live shiver of a woman, whether she is fifteen or fifty
years of age, whether she is one of the people or one of the _monde_,
goes so straight to my heart that I never had any compunctions in
understanding it!

Her whole frail being trembled, vibrated, swooned. I knew it. She walked
away before I had time to say a word, leaving me as surprised as if I
had witnessed a miracle, and as troubled as if I had committed a crime.

I did not go in to breakfast. I went to make a tour on the banks of the
Falaise, feeling that I would just as lieve weep as laugh, looking on
the adventure as both comic and deplorable, and my position as
ridiculous, fain to believe that I had lost my head.

I asked myself what I ought to do. I debated with myself whether I ought
to take my leave of the place and almost immediately my resolution was
formed.

Somewhat sad and perplexed, I wandered about until dinner time, and I
entered the farm house just when the soup had been served up.

I sat down at the table, as usual. Miss Harriet was there, munching away
solemnly, without speaking to anyone, without even lifting eyes. She
wore, however, her usual expression, both of countenance and manner.

I waited, patien