When next he awakened, the sun was already high in the heavens, from which he concluded that the morning was well advanced; and this before he realized quite where he was or how he came there.  Then to his awakening senses came a drone of voices close at hand, to which at first he paid little heed.  He was deliciously refreshed, luxuriously drowsy and luxuriously warm.

But as consciousness and memory grew more full, he raised his head clear of the hay that he might free both ears to listen, his pulses faintly quickened by the nascent fear that those voices might bode him no good.  Then he caught the reassuring accents of a woman, musical and silvery, though laden with alarm.

“Ah, mon Dieu, Leandre, let us separate at once.  If it should be my father... "

And upon this a man’s voice broke in, calm and reassuring: 

“No, no, Climene; you are mistaken.  There is no one coming.  We are quite safe.  Why do you start at shadows?”

“Ah, Leandre, if he should find us here together!  I tremble at the very thought.”

More was not needed to reassure Andre-Louis.  He had overheard enough to know that this was but the case of a pair of lovers who, with less to fear of life, were yet — after the manner of their kind — more timid of heart than he.  Curiosity drew him from his warm trough to the edge of the hay.  Lying prone, he advanced his head and peered down.

In the space of cropped meadow between the barn and the hedge stood a man and a woman, both young.  The man was a well-set-up, comely fellow, with a fine head of chestnut hair tied in a queue by a broad bow of black satin.  He was dressed with certain tawdry attempts at ostentatious embellishments, which did not prepossess one at first glance in his favour.  His coat of a fashionable cut was of faded plum-coloured velvet edged with silver lace, whose glory had long since departed.  He affected ruffles, but for want of starch they hung like weeping willows over hands that were fine and delicate.  His breeches were of plain black cloth, and his black stockings were of cotton — matters entirely out of harmony with his magnificent coat.  His shoes, stout and serviceable, were decked with buckles of cheap, lack-lustre paste.  But for his engaging and ingenuous countenance, Andre-Louis must have set him down as a knight of that order which lives dishonestly by its wits.  As it was, he suspended judgment whilst pushing investigation further by a study of the girl.  At the outset, be it confessed that it was a study that attracted him prodigiously.  And this notwithstanding the fact that, bookish and studious as were his ways, and in despite of his years, it was far from his habit to waste consideration on femininity.