The girl went to the shed where the carts and traps were kept.  Close to it, in a ditch, there was a large patch of violets, whose scent was perceptible all round, while beyond it, the open country could be seen where the corn was growing, with clumps of trees in the distance, and groups of laborers here and there, who looked as small as dolls, and white horses like toys, who were pulling a child’s cart, driven by a man as tall as one’s finger.

She took up a bundle of straw, and threw it into the ditch and sat down upon it; then, not feeling comfortable, she undid it, spread it out and lay down upon it at full length, on her back, with both arms under her head, and her legs stretched out.

Gradually her eyes closed, and she was falling into a state of delightful languor.  She was, in fact, almost asleep, when she felt two hands on her bosom, and then she sprang up at a bound.  It was Jacques, one of the farm laborers, a tall fellow from Picardy, who had been making love to her for a long time.  He had been looking after the sheep, and seeing her lying down in the shade, he had come stealthily, and holding his breath, with glistening eyes, and bits of straw in his hair.

He tried to kiss her, but she gave him a smack in the face, for she was as strong as he, and he was shrewd enough to beg her pardon; so they sat down side by side and talked amicably.  They spoke about the favorable weather, of their master, who was a good fellow, then of their neighbors, of all the people in the country round, of themselves, of their village, of their youthful days, of their recollections, of their relations, who had left them for a long time, and it might be for ever.  She grew sad as she thought of it, while he, with one fixed idea in his head, rubbed against her with a kind of a shiver, overcome by desire.

“I have not seen my mother for a long time,” she said.  “It is very hard to be separated like that.”  And she directed her looks into the distance, towards the village in the North, which she had left.

Suddenly, however, he seized her by the neck and kissed her again; but she struck him so violently in the face with her clenched fist, that his nose began to bleed, and he got up and laid his head against the stem of a tree.  When she saw that, she was sorry, and going up to him, she said:  “Have I hurt you?” He, however, only laughed.  “No, it was a mere nothing;” only, she had hit him right on the middle of the nose.  “What a devil!” he said, and he looked at her with admiration, for she had inspired him with a feeling of respect and of a very different kind of admiration, which was the beginning of real love for that tall, strong wench.

When the bleeding had stopped, he proposed a walk, as he was afraid of his neighbor’s heavy hand, if they remained side by side like that much longer; but she took his arm of her own accord, in the avenue, as if they had been out for an evening walk, and said:  “It is not nice of you to despise me like that, Jacques.”  He protested, however.  No, he did not despise her.  He was in love with her, that was all.  “So you really want to marry me?” she asked.