“A first ray of the sun, glistening through the branches, pierced that fog of the dawn, illuminated it with a rosy reflection just behind the rustic lovers, framing their vague shadows in a silvery background.  It was well done; yes, indeed, well done.

“I was working on the declivity which led to the Valley of Etretat.  On this particular morning I had, by chance, the sort of floating vapor which I needed.  Suddenly something rose up in front of me like a phantom; it was Miss Harriet.  On seeing me she was about to flee.  But I called after her, saying:  ’Come here, come here, mademoiselle.  I have a nice little picture for you.’

“She came forward, though with seeming reluctance.  I handed her my sketch.  She said nothing, but stood for a long time, motionless, looking at it, and suddenly she burst into tears.  She wept spasmodically, like men who have striven hard to restrain their tears, but who can do so no longer and abandon themselves to grief, though still resisting.  I sprang to my feet, moved at the sight of a sorrow I did not comprehend, and I took her by the hand with an impulse of brusque affection, a true French impulse which acts before it reflects.

“She let her hands rest in mine for a few seconds, and I felt them quiver as if all her nerves were being wrenched.  Then she withdrew her hands abruptly, or, rather, snatched them away.

“I recognized that tremor, for I had felt it, and I could not be deceived.  Ah! the love tremor of a woman, whether she be fifteen or fifty years of age, whether she be of the people or of society, goes so straight to my heart that I never have any hesitation in understanding it!

“Her whole frail being had trembled, vibrated, been overcome.  I knew it.  She walked away before I had time to say a word, leaving me as surprised as if I had witnessed a miracle and as troubled as if I had committed a crime.

“I did not go in to breakfast.  I went to take a turn on the edge of the cliff, feeling that I would just as lief weep as laugh, looking on the adventure as both comic and deplorable and my position as ridiculous, believing her unhappy enough to go insane.

“I asked myself what I ought to do.  It seemed best for me to leave the place, and I immediately resolved to do so.

“Somewhat sad and perplexed, I wandered about until dinner time and entered the farmhouse just when the soup had been served up.

“I sat down at the table as usual.  Miss Harriet was there, eating away solemnly, without speaking to any one, without even lifting her eyes.  Her manner and expression were, however, the same as usual.

“I waited patiently till the meal had been finished, when, turning toward the landlady, I said:  ’Well, Madame Lecacheur, it will not be long now before I shall have to take my leave of you.’

“The good woman, at once surprised and troubled, replied in her drawling voice:  ’My dear sir, what is it you say?  You are going to leave us after I have become so accustomed to you?’