But she did not answer him, she gazed almost sadly upon the tree and the foliage and the grass around them.
‘Foolish child!’ he said, laughing; ‘are you afraid that I shall be angry with you for your love? We have loved as we were meant to love. Let me kiss you.’
But, dropping her eyelids so that she might not see the tree, she said, in a low whisper, ‘Take me away!’
Serge led her thence, pacing slowly and giving one last glance at the spot which love had hallowed. The shadows in the clearing were growing darker, and a gentle quiver coursed through the foliage. When they emerged from the wood and caught sight of the sun, still shining brightly in the horizon, they felt easier. Everything around Serge now seemed to bend down before him and pay homage to his love. The garden was now nothing but an appanage of Albine’s beauty, and seemed to have grown larger and fairer amid the love-kisses of its rulers.
But Albine’s joy was still tinged with disquietude. She would suddenly pause amid her laughter and listen anxiously.
‘What is the matter?’ asked Serge.
‘Nothing,’ she replied, casting furtive glances behind her.
They did not know in what out-of-the-way corner of the park they were. To lose themselves in their capricious wanderings only served to amuse them as a rule; but that day they experienced anxious embarrassment. By degrees they quickened their pace, plunging more and more deeply into a labyrinth of bushes.
‘Don’t you hear?’ asked Albine, nervously, as she suddenly stopped short, almost breathless.
Serge listened, a prey, in his turn, to the anxiety which the girl could no longer conceal.