“Decidément vous n’êtes pas du tout poli,” he cried angrily. “You say I am like a squirrel; I ask what squirrel, and you begin to laugh.”
“I never said that you were like a squirrel,” she exclaimed, greatly shocked; “how can you think that I would say such a thing?”
“You did,” he declared bitterly. “You said I was like a squirrel in his wheel, because I tell you so often that I love you.”
“Oh, monsieur, you know that I never meant it in that way; how can you think for an instant that I could have—have said that—that—” She felt it impossible to define her offence again without having the corners of her mouth give way; but she went close beside him and faced his vexation with earnest, upraised eyes the while that she laid one hand upon his arm with the sweet impulsive gesture of a pleading child.
The gold had all faded from the sky, and the pink reflection in the far west was sunk beyond the horizon. The path was very solitary; they were quite alone except for an occasional peasant returning from his labor.
“Say that you understand,” she said anxiously, as a break in the trees revealed a long stretch of river; “you must say something, because I want to know how far it is to the next bridge.”
He stopped and stared ahead.
“There are no more bridges,” he proclaimed.
“No more bridges,” she cried.
He shook his head.