Then will a thrill of emotion in her tone she went on more quickly: “Your enthusiasm, your initiative ... everything that is sincere and spontaneous in you ... and other qualities that I have not yet had time to discover in you ... all that touches me profoundly.”
Their two hands were still clasped; their eyes still gazed into one another. Ralph was quivering with tenderness.
She sighed and said gently: “When one says good-by forever, one is bound to return one another’s gifts. Give me back my portrait, Ralph.”
“No, no! Never!” he cried.
“Then I,” she said with a smile which intoxicated him, “I shall be more honest than you and honestly give back to you the gift you gave me.”
“But what gift?” he asked, for he could remember no gift.
“The first night ... in the barn ... while I was sleeping ... you leaned over me; and I felt your lips.”
She bent towards him, put her arms round his neck, drew his head towards her, and their mouths met.
“Oh, Josine!” he cried, lost. “Do what you like with me.... I love you.... I love!”
They walked along the bank of the Seine, the waving reeds below them. They brushed against the long narrow spears shaken by the breeze. They went towards happiness with no other thoughts in their hearts but those which make lovers, walking hand in hand, tremble.