It is so sweet, when we are alone, when the heart is sad, when the heaven is dark and the tears come slowly to the eyes, to dream that away there, in a little corner behind the horizon, there is a sister-soul to our soul, which perhaps, at that very moment, leaps towards us also and murmurs across space:  “Friend, I think of you.”  We feel less abandoned and less alone.

—­Yes, that is true, I understand you.

—­It is the communion of souls, dear Suzanne, sweeter than all the pleasures of the body, because it is holy and pure, it is the Ark of the Covenant, the gate of Heaven.  Tell me, will you?  Are you willing that we should follow one another thus in life?  You do not answer....

—­Listen, sir, listen, there is someone in the road.

—­There are footsteps, said Marcel, after he had listened.  Yes, there are footsteps.  Someone comes.  I must not be seen here....  Farewell, Mademoiselle, farewell.

—­Do not go away.  That would be the means of compromising us both, for they must have heard our voices, and your departure would attract suspicions.

—­What shall I do?  I cannot remain here.

—­They cannot have seen us yet:  Come in.  Under this arbour you will be safe from any gaze.

—­What! said Marcel, you wish...?

—­I beseech you, come.  This village is full of evil-minded people.  It is more prudent for both of us.

She turned the key, and Marcel glided like a shadow through the half-open gate, quickly crossed the borders, and threw himself under the arbour.

Suzanne closed the gate again and rejoined him.

LXXII.

THE ASSAULT.

  “Be mine, be my sister, for I am all thine,
  And well I deserve thee, for long have I loved.”

  A. DE VIGNY (Eloa).

They were standing up under the dark arbour.  One close to the other, excited, panting:  they could scarce get their breath again.  Does their heart beat so hard because there is someone in the path?  Silence!

The cricket, just by their side, sends forth from under the grass his soft monotonous cry, and down there in the neighbouring ditch the toad lifts his harsh voice.  Silence!

A noise in the road, faint at first as the murmur of the wind, increases.  It comes near.  It is the cautious hesitating step of someone listening.  It comes nearer and stops.  Silence!  The philosopher cricket continues his song, the amorous toad his poem.

Behind the branches of honeysuckle they watch attentively, and can see without being seen.  A shadow passes slowly by, with its head turned towards the dark arbour.  Suzanne made a movement of surprise;—­Your servant, she said.

—­Silence, murmured Marcel; and he seizes a hand which he keeps within his own.

Veronica slowly walked on.

When she reached the gate, she pushed it as if to assure herself if it was open.