sound of Serge’s movements.  So, in her turn, she set about seeking him; and she was surprised, almost vexed, when she discovered him under a plum-tree, of whose existence she herself had been ignorant, and whose ripe fruit had a delicious musky perfume.  She soundly rated him.  Did he want to eat everything himself, that he hadn’t called to her to come?  He pretended to know nothing about the trees, but he evidently had a very keen scent to be able to find all the good things.  She was especially indignant with the poor tree itself—­a stupid tree which no one had known of, and which must have sprung up in the night on purpose to put people out.  As she stood there pouting, refusing to pluck a single plum, it occurred to Serge to shake the tree violently.  And then a shower, a regular hail, of plums came down.  Albine, standing in the midst of the downfall, received plums on her arms, plums on her neck, plums on the very tip of her nose.  At this she could no longer restrain her laughter; she stood in the midst of the deluge, crying ‘More! more!’ amused as she was by the round bullet-like fruit which fell around her as she squatted there, with hands and mouth open, and eyes closed.

It was a morning of childish play, of wild gambols in the Paradou.  Albine and Serge spent hours, scampering up and down, shouting and sporting with each other, their thoughts still all innocence.  And in what a delicious spot they found themselves!  Depths of greenery, with undiscoverable hiding-places; paths, along whose windings it was never possible to be serious, such greedy laughter fell from the very hedges.  In this happy orchard, there was such a playful straggling of bushes, such fresh and appetising shade, such a wealth of old trees laden like kindly grandfathers with sweet dainties.  Even in the depths of the recesses green with moss, beneath the broken trunks which compelled them to creep the one behind the other, in the narrow leafy alleys, the young folks never succumbed to the perilous reveries of silence.  No trouble touched them in that happy wood.

And when they had grown weary of the apricot-trees and the plum-trees and the cherry-trees, they ran beneath the slender almond-trees; eating green almonds, scarcely yet as big as peas, hunting for strawberries in the grassy carpet, and regretting that the melons were not already ripe.  Albine finished by running as fast as she could go, pursued by Serge, who was unable to overtake her.  She rushed amongst the fig-trees, leaping over their heavy branches, and pulling off the leaves to throw them behind her in her companion’s face.  In a few strides she had cleared the clumps of arbutus, whose red berries she tasted on her way; and it was in the jungle of nettle-trees, medlars, and jujube-trees that Serge lost her.  At first he thought she was hiding behind a pomegranate; but found that he had mistaken two clustering blossoms for the rosy roundness of her wrists.  Then he scoured the plantation of orange-trees, rejoicing in their beauty and perfume, and thinking that he must have reached the abode of the fairies of the sun.  In the midst of them he caught sight of Albine, who, not believing him so near her, was peering inquisitively into the green depths.