"We'll go on now, shall we?"
They rose. She bestowed upon his mouth a sonorous kiss. She was gay and restless. Every few minutes she darted away from him to run down an incline free from rocks; and when she wished to check her speed, she grasped the trunk of a young oak, which groaned and bent beneath the shock.
She gathered a violet flower and sucked it.
"It's honey."
She gathered another, and placed it on her lover's lips.
"Taste it!"
And it seemed as if she enjoyed the savor for the second time, at seeing the motions of his mouth.
"With all these flowers, and all these bees, there must certainly be a hive near by," she went on. "One of these mornings, while you are asleep, I must come here and search for it.... I'll bring you a honeycomb."
She prattled at a great rate about this adventure, which tickled her fancy; and in her words appeared, with the vivacity of an actual sensation, the freshness of the morning, the mystery of the woods, the impatience of the search, the joy of the discovery, the pale color and wild fragrance of honey.
They halted half-way up the hill, at the border of the woody region, charmed by the melancholy which ascended from the sea.