ithout tears
or blushes. If I have done wrong, I have atoned for it; and it is done
with. All that remained of it was a sad memory; and, now that I have
considered it with you, even that is gone."

I look at her. Her appearance pleases me. Her step is firm, her cheeks
are pale, her eyes burning; she is living more ardently than usual. She
continues, with animation:

"You said to me once that people who believe in another life seem to
sweep their sins and their remorse up to the doors of eternity. For us,
you said, who have not that illusion, everything is different: we do not
put off paying the bill for our sins. We can recognise their
consequences; and that is our expiation." And you added, proudly, "It is
cowardly to look to another for it, even if that other were God!"

We are walking in the orchard. The long grass is bending under the
weight of the dew, which has decked it with a thousand glittering
jewels. As we pass by a tree laden with apples, Rose pulls a branch to
her and, without plucking the fruit, bites into it. I watch the lips
part and the white teeth meet and disappear in the juicy pulp. For a
second, the soft red mouth rounds over the fruit, which seems to match
its beauty and to be questioning Rose about her pitiful love-affairs.

"Then, Rose dear, you were not really happy for a moment with your
lover?"

"No."

"But he was young, I suppose, and more or less good-looking?"

She thinks for a moment and then bends her head.

"You remember it, Rose?"

The girl appears astonished and answers, hesitatingly:

"It is five years ago, I don't remember now...."

I was surprised in my turn and looked at her. What! She didn't remember!
She had forgotten that! Her lips had not retained the impress of the
first kiss!

My eyes closed and from the background of my life a bygone moment rose,
one of those memories that linger in the hearts of women with such
fidelity and vividness that they lack not a scent, a sound, a line, a
word, a look, a gesture!

I was twelve years old and he fifteen. It was at the seaside. Our
parents were talking a few steps away, but night was falling and a
fisherman's hut hid us from their eyes. He bent over to me and our lips
met in a simple kiss, simple as a flower with petals still unopened, for
we were both of us innocent....

I can still see the colour and the shape of the drifting clouds. I can
smell the mingled breath of the sea and of his boyish mouth. I can
remember