tched to-day was pale and grey; and the obedient earth
humbly espoused its gentle tones. With my hands clasped in my lap, it
seemed to me that I was drinking in the peace that filled my heart; and
my eyes, which unconsciously fastened on my hands, held for a moment my
whole life enclosed there.

Then I heard indistinctly steps approaching me. A woman sat down on the
bench. The corner of her apron had brushed against my knees; I raised my
head and saw the young girl sitting by my side.

She said, simply:

"Here I am."

And at this short speech my mind is in a tumult; thoughts rush wildly
through my brain without my being able to follow one of them. I press
her hands, I look at her, I laugh, while little cries of delight burst
from my lips:

"You are here at last! I was expecting you! Do you know that you are
very pretty ... and that you look sweet and kind?... Make haste and tell
me all about yourself...."

But she does not answer. She stares at me with wide-open eyes; and my
impulsive phrases strike with such force against her stupefaction that
each one of them seems by degrees to fall back upon myself. I in my turn
am left utterly dumfounded; she is so ill at ease that I myself become
nervous; her astonishment embarrasses me; I secretly laugh at my own
discomfiture; and I end by asking, feebly:

"What's your name?"

"Rose."

"Rose ... Roseline.... My name is...."

And I burst out laughing. We were really talking like two children
trying to make friends. I threw my arm round her waist and put my lips
to her cheek. I loved its milky perfume. My kiss left a little white
mark which the blood soon flushed again.

She told me that she had seen me from a distance and that she had come
running up without stopping. I was careful not to ask her what she
wanted to tell me, for I knew that she had obeyed my wishes rather than
her own; and I led her towards the house:

"Rose, my dear Rose.... I know that you are unhappy."

She stops, gives me a quick look and then turns red and lowers her eyes.
Thereupon, so as not to startle her, I ask her about her work and about
the farm.

Rose answers shily, in short sentences, and we walk about in the garden.
From time to time, she stops to pull up a weed; methodically, she breaks
off the flowers hanging faded from their stalks; occasionally, she makes
a reference, full of sound sense, to the care required by plants and
vegetables. But my will passes like an obliterating lin