At Saint Rémy they stopped to water the horse. The first coolness of evening was spreading. As the breeze fluttered down the hills, trees shuddered, like people rising from their beds. Shutters were being pushed back from windows. Faces peered out Loiterers gazed curiously at the carriage, with the unconscious girl drooping like a flower in the arms of the gravely defiant young man. Saint Rémy had been left behind; the ascent into the mountains had commenced before she wakened.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “What! Still holding me? I do think you’re the most patient man—— Do you still love me, Meester Deek?”
He stooped to kiss her yawning mouth. “More every hour. But why?”
“Because if a man can still love a woman after seeing her asleep—— When I’m asleep, I don’t look my prettiest.”
The scenery was becoming momentarily more wild. The horse was laboring in its steps. On either side white bowlders hung as if about to tumble. The narrow road wound up through the loneliness in sweeping curves. Hawks were dipping against the sky. Not a tree was in sight—only wild lavender and straggling furze.
She clutched his arm. “It’s frightening.”
“Let’s walk ahead and not think about it,” he suggested. “We’ll talk and forget.”
But the scenery proved silencing.
“Do say something,” she whispered. “Can’t we quarrel? We’ll talk if we’re angry.”
He thought. “What kind of a beast was that man in California?”