“Everywhere,” my superintendent explained, “they gather presents of bread and butter, cheese, eggs and other provisions in accordance with each one’s resources, but no one gives them money, and in the evening they return to their own homes well laden. Even the poor offer them something. You understand, no one refuses anything to those who herald fine days. We must pay attention to these swarms of little children when we see them passing by as the days grow longer. They warn us to watch for the Spring, and to rejoice when we perceive it in the distance.”
Thus forewarned, I did not fail to meet it.
After I had followed the children, I plunged into the woods. As I reached the cross-roads that are called the Green Fountain, because of a tiny little natural basin whose clear water rests on a bed of soft starry moss, I saw Spring coming from afar.
She was riding a horse that was a golden chestnut, and I caught sight of her under the light, broken arch of an alley of ash trees, coming slowly and inattentively toward me. I held my breath, for fear that I might alarm her, for I was ignorant of the forest customs of the gods. Motionless, I awaited her approach. When she was quite near, I removed my hat, and saluted her politely, as courteously as I could.
“Good-day, Mlle. Raymonde.”
That was Spring’s name.
Quite proud of my own valour, I was to learn that the gods are sometimes afraid of simple mortals. My “Spring” turned about and fled away at a gallop, her youthful body swaying in rhythm with each stride of her horse. Soon she disappeared, leaving me, after one movement of offended pride, in a state of depression that was almost anger.
I rushed away to the lodge.
“How many horses have you?” I asked M. Mairieux.
“Only one, my old Sultan,” he answered.