He knelt down.
"Finish, then."
"'Oh! let me sleep and dream upon thy breast,
My beauty, Doña Sol, my love!'[14]
"Here the bells are heard, and they are disturbed by a mountaineer."
"Fortunately; for, but for that——" And Madame Bordin smiled, in place of finishing the sentence.
It was getting dark. She arose.
It had been raining a short time before, and the path through the beech grove not being dry enough, it was more convenient to return across the fields. Bouvard accompanied her into the garden, in order to open the gate for her.
At first they walked past the trees cut like distaffs, without a word being spoken on either side. He was still moved by his declamation, and she, at the bottom of her heart, felt a certain kind of fascination, a charm which was generated by the influence of literature. There are occasions when art excites commonplace natures; and worlds may be unveiled by the clumsiest interpreters.
The sun had reappeared, making the leaves glisten, and casting luminous spots here and there amongst the brakes. Three sparrows with little chirpings hopped on the trunk of an old linden tree which had fallen to the ground. A hawthorn in blossom exhibited its pink sheath; lilacs drooped, borne down by their foliage.
"Ah! that does one good!" said Bouvard, inhaling the air till it filled his lungs.