"Well, you're looking at me. Come, don't be disagreeable."
"Disagreeable, Doris! I never felt more kindly in my life. I'm still absorbed in the strange piece of luck which has brought us together, and in such a well-chosen spot; no other would have pleased me as much."
"Now why do you like the landscape? Tell me."
"I cannot think of the landscape now, Doris: I'm thinking of you, of what you said just now."
"What did I say?"
"You said--I tried to remember the words at the time, but I have forgotten them, so many thoughts have passed through my mind since--you said--how did you word it?--after having suffered as much as you did, some share of happiness----"
"No, I didn't say that; I said, having sacrificed so much, I thought I deserved a little happiness."
"So she knew what she was saying," I said to myself. "Her words were not casual," but not daring to ask her if she intended to make me her happiness, I spoke about the landscape. "You ask me why I like the landscape? Because it carries me back into past times when men believed in nymphs and in satyrs. I have always thought it must be a wonderful thing to believe in the dryad. Do you know that men wandering in the woods sometimes used to catch sight of a white breast between the leaves, and henceforth they could love no mortal woman? The beautiful name of their malady was nympholepsy. A disease that every one would like to catch."
"But if you were to catch it you wouldn't be able to love me, so I'll not bring you to the mountains. Some peasant girl----"
"Fie! Doris, I have never liked peasant girls."