I burst out laughing.
“Shall I come and remove it for you?” I asked.
“No,” she answered—“you mustn’t. It will be all right in a minute.”
“Bon!” I muttered to myself, à propos the momentary impulse which had thrilled my nerves. “She is wise in the daylight, God bless her!”
We joined company below, even with something a sense of an old comradeship recovered, though Fifine’s cheek flushed a little when she first saw me. I drew her out for a stroll while our coffee was preparing, and we walked together happily, tacitly eschewing all perilous topics. It was a lovely glowing morning, and the little village, sitting in its slipper of the hills, unfolded its simple charms prettily before us, rebuking our gloomy estimate of its last night’s inhospitality. But there was not much to detain us; and, breakfast finished, we were soon on our way for the mountain stronghold, which was the true siderite of our desires.
A siderite, in sooth, it appeared, burning sky-high. We were climbing all the way, and I had to strain like a pack-horse, loaded as I was.
“Is the knapsack heavy?” said Fifine. “But really, do you know, Felix, we are justifying its existence for the first time.”
“I shouldn’t mind that,” I said, “if it didn’t take such advantage of the favour shown it. Now I know why the rack in the train creaked.”
“Poor man,” she said. “Shall I help you?”
“Yes, take the rücksack, Fifine, and I will carry you. M. Cabarus would call that halving the burden to double the joy.”