"What is the matter?" she asked.
I turned aside my head.
I sought an excuse, but could find none; I was afraid to meet her glance. I arose and stepped to the window. The air was balmy, the moon was rising beyond those lindens where I had first met her. I fell into a profound reverie; I even forgot that she was present and, extending my arms toward heaven, a sob welled up from my heart.
She arose and stood behind me.
"What is it?" she again asked.
I replied that the sight of that valley, stretching out beneath us, had recalled my father's death; I took leave of her and went out.
Why I decided to silence my love I can not say. Nevertheless, instead of returning home, I began to wander about the woods like a fool. Whenever I found a bench I sat down and then jumped up precipitately. Toward midnight I approached Madame Pierson's house; she was at the window. Seeing her there I began to tremble and tried to retrace my steps, but I was fascinated; I advanced gently and sadly and sat down beneath her window.
I do not know whether she recognized me; I had been there some time when I heard her sweet, fresh voice singing the refrain of a romance, and at the same instant a flower fell on my shoulder. It was a rose she had worn that evening on her bosom; I picked it up and bore it to my lips.
"Who is there at this hour? Is it you?"
She called me by name. The gate leading into the garden was open; I arose without replying and entered it, I stopped before a plot of grass in the center of the garden; I was walking like a somnambulist, without knowing what I was doing.