I walked rapidly, for we can hardly help running when in an open field and pursued by the arrows of the sun; we run till we are breathless, to find shelter beneath some friendly tree.

I had crossed a large field that separates the property of the florist from Madame de Meilhan’s, and entered the park by a little gate; a few steps off a fountain rippled among the rocks—­a basin surrounded by shells received its waters.  This basin had originally been pretentiously ornamented, but time and vegetation had greatly improved these efforts of bad taste.  The roots of a grand weeping willow had pitilessly unmasked the imposture of these artificial rocks, that is, they have destroyed their skilful masonry; these rocks, built at great expense on the shore, have gradually fallen into the very middle of the water, where they have become naturalized; some serve as vases to clusters of beautiful iris, others serve as resting-places for the tame deer that run about the park and drink at the stream; aquatic plants, reeds and entwined convolvulus have invaded the rest; all the pretentious work of the artist is now concealed; which proves the vanity of the proud efforts of man.  God permits his creatures to cultivate ugliness in their cities only; in his own beautiful fields he quickly destroys their miserable attempts.  Vainly, under pretext of a fountain, do they heap up in the woods and valleys masonry upon masonry, rocks upon rocks; vainly do they lavish money upon their gingerbread work about the limpid brooks; the water-nymph smilingly watches their labor, and then in her capricious play amuses herself by changing their hideous productions into charming structures; their den of a farmer-general into a poet’s nest; and to effect this miracle only three things are necessary—­three things that cost nothing, and which we daily trample under foot—­flowers, grass and pebbles....  Valentine, I know I have been talking too long about this little lake, but I have an excuse:  I love it much!  You shall soon know why....

I heard the purling of the water, and could not resist the seductive freshness of its voice; I leaned over the rocks of the fountain, took off my glove and caught in the hollow of my hand the sparkling water that fell from the cascade, and eagerly drank it.  As I was intoxicating myself with this innocent beverage, I heard a footstep on the path; I continued to drink without disturbing myself, until the following words made me raise my head: 

“Excuse me, mademoiselle, but can you direct me where to find Mad. de Meilhan?”

He called me Mademoiselle, so I must be recognised; the idea made me turn pale; I looked with alarm at the young man who uttered these words, I had never seen him before, but he might have seen me and would betray me.  I was so disconcerted that I dropped half of my flowers in the water; the current was rapidly whirling them off among the crevices of the rocks, when he jumped lightly from stone to stone, and rescuing