“Who taught you that?” I asked, when they had finished.
“Nobody.”
“Did you all know it when you were born?”
“Surely.”
I have kept the words of the refrain. Whoever thinks them commonplace, does not grasp their real significance:
Awaken, sleeping beauty!
Awaken, if you sleep.
To me this beautiful sleeping one is Nature, who stretches herself after the winter’s sleep and smiles in the woods and in the gardens.
After this the children ranged themselves on the lawn, the girls on one side and the boys on the other, and danced—upon my word—a pavane. Perhaps it was not really a pavane, but I will not call it otherwise. It deserved that beautiful name, for it included some complicated steps, embellished with graceful bows.
I threw them some coppers and even some silver pieces. They scarcely thanked me, which impaired their success with me, and ran away toward the lodge. Why several moments later did they burst out into such clamorous joy, a joy that piqued me? I came down from my room and approached them. Seated at M. Mairieux’s table they were eating, drinking and laughing with their mouths full. Then they went off with red cheeks and full stomachs to other houses and other villages.