“She gave me a quick, upward look, as if to see exactly what I was like, and then, after a little hesitation, she accepted my proposal, and soon we were there, walking side by side.  Under the foliage, which was still rather thin, the tall, thick, bright, green grass, was inundated by the sun, and full of small insects that also made love to one another, and birds were singing in all directions.  My companion began to jump and to run, intoxicated by the air, and the smell of the country, and I ran and jumped behind her.  How stupid we are at times, Monsieur!

“Then she wildly sang a thousand things; opera airs, and the song of Musette!  The song of Musette!  How poetical it seemed to me, then!  I almost cried over it.  Ah!  Those silly songs make us lose our heads; and, believe me, never marry a woman who sings in the country, especially if she sings the song of Musette!

“She soon grew tired, and sat down on a grassy slope, and I sat down at her feet, and took her hands, her little hands, that were so marked with the needle, and that moved me.  I said to myself:  ’These are the sacred marks of toil.’  Oh!  Monsieur, do you know what those sacred marks of labor mean?  They mean all the gossip of the workroom, the whispered blackguardism, the mind soiled by all the filth that is talked; they mean lost chastity, foolish chatter, all the wretchedness of daily bad habits, all the narrowness of ideas which belongs to women of the lower orders, united in the girl whose sacred fingers bear the sacred marks of toil.

“Then we looked into each other’s eyes for a long while.  Oh!  What power a woman’s eye has!  How it agitates us, how it invades our very being, takes possession of us, and dominates us.  How profound it seems, how full of infinite promises!  People call that looking into each other’s souls!  Oh!  Monsieur, what humbug!  If we could see into each other’s souls, we should be more careful of what we did.  However, I was caught, and crazy after her, and tried to take her into my arms, but she said:  ‘Paws off!’ Then I knelt down, and opened my heart to her, and poured out all the affection that was suffocating me, on her knees.  She seemed surprised at my change of manner, and gave me a sidelong glance, as if to say:  ’Ah!  So that is the way women make a fool of you, old fellow!  Very well, we will see.  In love, Monsieur, we are all artists, and women are the dealers.’

“No doubt I could have had her, and I saw my own stupidity later, but what I wanted was not a woman’s person; it was love, it was the ideal.  I was sentimental, when I ought to have been using my time to a better purpose.

“As soon as she had had enough of my declarations of affection, she got up, and we returned to Saint-Cloud, and I did not leave her until we got to Paris; but she had looked so sad as we were returning, that at last I asked her what was the matter.  ‘I am thinking,’ she replied, ’that this has been one of those days of which we have but few in life.’  And my heart beat so that it felt as if it would break my ribs.