t being dry enough, it was more convenient to return across the
fields. Bouvard accompanied her into the garden, in order to open the
gate for her.

At first they walked past the trees cut like distaffs, without a word
being spoken on either side. He was still moved by his declamation, and
she, at the bottom of her heart, felt a certain kind of fascination, a
charm which was generated by the influence of literature. There are
occasions when art excites commonplace natures; and worlds may be
unveiled by the clumsiest interpreters.

The sun had reappeared, making the leaves glisten, and casting luminous
spots here and there amongst the brakes. Three sparrows with little
chirpings hopped on the trunk of an old linden tree which had fallen to
the ground. A hawthorn in blossom exhibited its pink sheath; lilacs
drooped, borne down by their foliage.

"Ah! that does one good!" said Bouvard, inhaling the air till it filled
his lungs.

"You are so painstaking."

"It is not that I have talent; but as for fire, I possess some of that."

"One can see," she returned, pausing between the words, "that you--were
in love--in your early days."

"Only in my early days, you believe?"

She stopped. "I know nothing about it."

"What does she mean?" And Bouvard felt his heart beating.

A little pool in the middle of the gravel obliging them to step aside,
they got up on the hedgerow.

Then they chatted about the recital.

"What is the name of your last piece?"

"It is taken from _Hernani_, a drama."

"Ha!" then slowly and as if in soliloquy, "it must be nice to have a
gentleman say such things to you--in downright earnest."

"I am at your service," replied Bouvard.

"You?"

"Yes, I."

"What a joke!"

"Not the least in the world!"

And, having cast a look about him, he caught her from behind round the
waist and kissed the nape of her neck vigorously.

She became very pale as if she were going to faint, and leaned one hand
against a tree, then opened her eyes and shook her head.

"It is past."

He looked at her in amazement.

The grating being open, she got up on the threshold of the little
gateway.

There was a water-channel at the opposite side. She gathered up all the
folds of her petticoat and stood on the brink hesitatingly.

"Do you want my assistance?"

"Unnecessary."

"Why not?"

"Ha! you are too dangerous!" And as she jumped down, he could see her
white stocking.

Bouvard blamed himself for hav