‘But if you are mine, I am yours,’ said he; ’yours for ever; for I now well know that you are my queen, my sovereign, whom I must worship on bended knee.  I am here only to obey you, to lie at your feet, to anticipate your wishes, to shelter you with my arms, to drive away whatever might trouble your tranquillity.  And you are my life’s goal.  Since I first awoke in this garden, you have ever been before me; I have grown up that I might be yours.  Ever, as my end, my reward, have I gazed upon your grace.  You passed in the sunshine with the sheen of your golden hair; you were a promise that I should some day know all the mysteries and necessities of creation, of this earth, of these trees, these waters, these skies, whose last secret is yet unrevealed.  I belong to you; I am your slave; I will listen to you and obey you, with my lips upon your feet.’

He said this, bowed to the ground, adoring Woman.  And Albine, full of pride, allowed herself to be adored.  She yielded her hands, her cheeks, her lips, to Serge’s rapturous kisses.  She felt herself indeed a queen as she saw him, who was so strong, bending so humbly before her.  She had conquered him, and held him there at her mercy.  With a single word she could dispose of him.  And that which helped her to recognise her omnipotence was that she heard the whole garden rejoicing at her triumph, with gradually swelling paeans of approval.

’Ah! if we could fly off together, if we could but die even, in one another’s arms,’ faltered Serge, scarce able to articulate.  But Albine had strength enough to raise her finger as though to bid him listen.

It was the garden that had planned and willed it all.  For weeks and weeks it had been favouring and encouraging their passion, and at last, on that supreme day, it had lured them to that spot, and now it became the Tempter whose every voice spoke of love.  From the flower-beds, amid the fragrance of the languid blossoms, was wafted a soft sighing, which told of the weddings of the roses, the love-joys of the violets; and never before had the heliotropes sent forth so voluptuous a perfume.  Mingled with the soft air which arose from the orchard were all the exhalations of ripe fruit, the vanilla of apricots, the musk of oranges, all the luscious aroma of fruitfulness.  From the meadows came fuller notes, the million sighs of the sun-kissed grass, the multitudinous love-plaints of legions of living things, here and there softened by the refreshing caresses of the rivulets, on whose banks the very willows palpitated with desire.  And the forest proclaimed the mighty passion of the oaks.  Through the high branches sounded solemn music, organ strains like the nuptial marches of the ashes and the birches, the hornbeams and the planes, while from the bushes and the young coppices arose noisy mirth like that of youthful lovers chasing one another over banks and into hollows amid much crackling and snapping of branches.  From afar, too, the faint breeze wafted the sounds of the rocks splitting in their passion beneath the burning heat, while near them the spiky plants loved in a tragic fashion of their own, unrefreshed by the neighbouring springs, which themselves glowed with the love of the passionate sun.