‘What are you looking for?’ he cried.  ’You know very well that is forbidden.’

She sprang up hastily, and slightly blushed for the first time that day.  Then sitting down by the side of Serge, she told him of the fine times there would be when the oranges should be ripe.  The wood would then be all golden, all bright with those round stars, dotting with yellow sparks the arching green.

When at last they really set off homeward she halted at every wild-growing fruit tree, and filled her pockets with sour pears and bitter plums, saying that they world be good to eat on their way.  They would prove a hundred times more enjoyable than anything they had tasted before.  Serge was obliged to swallow some of them, in spite of the grimaces he made at each bite.  And eventually they found themselves indoors again, tired out but feeling very happy.

X

A week later there was another expedition to the park.  They had planned to extend their rambles beyond the orchard, striking out to the left through the meadows watered by the four streams.  They would travel several miles over the thick grass, and they might live on fish, if they happened to lose themselves.

‘I will take my knife,’ said Albine, holding up a broad-bladed peasant’s knife.

She crammed all kinds of things into her pockets, string, bread, matches, a small bottle of wine, some rags, a comb, and some needles.  Serge took a rug, but by the time they had passed the lime-trees and reached the ruins of the chateau, he found it such an encumbrance that he hid it beneath a piece of fallen wall.

The sun was hotter than before, Albine had delayed their departure by her extensive preparations.  Thus in the heat of the morning they stepped along side by side, almost quietly.  They actually managed to take twenty paces at a time without pushing one another or laughing.  They began to talk.

‘I never can wake up,’ began Albine.  ’I slept so soundly last night.  Did you?’

‘Yes, indeed, very soundly,’ replied Serge.

‘What does it mean when you dream of a bird that talks to you?’ the girl resumed.

‘I don’t know.  What did your bird say to you?’

’Oh, I have forgotten.  But it said all kinds of things, and many of them sounded very comical.  Stop, look at that big poppy over there.  You sha’n’t get it, you sha’n’t get it!’

And then she sprang forward; but Serge, thanks to his long legs, outstripped her and plucked the poppy, which he waved about victoriously.  She stood there with lips compressed, saying nothing, but feeling a strong inclination to cry.  Serge threw down the flower.  Nothing else occurred to him.  Then, to make his peace with her, he asked:  ‘Would you like me to carry you as I did the other day?’

‘No, no.’

She pouted a little, but she had not gone another thirty steps, when she turned round smiling.  A bramble had caught hold of her dress.