“Come, maids and swains, to join our summer greeting,
Youth and the summer time are ever fleeting.
Returns the summer time,
Not so youth’s golden prime;
It cometh not again,
It cometh not again!”
He felt as in a dream; and the spell seemed over Michelle too, for when the party separated he found himself walking alone with her in the dusk, along the road, under over-arching trees, that led through the park to the château. They were still singing softly, and Roger, without knowing why or even when he did it, held out his hand, and she laid hers within it, and so, like a shepherd and shepherdess, they passed along together. What sweet and peaceful thoughts, like birds nesting in the trees after the day’s work, were theirs! All the world was left behind and out of sight. They were Corydon and Amaryllis returning to their cot at eve. Not one whole day had they ever spent in each other’s company, yet had their souls rushed together when first they found themselves alone.
They had begun with acting a little part of shepherd and his shepherdess, but now it seemed quite real; they had quite forgotten the every-day world. Michelle’s eyes were softly gleaming. At first they had been merry and full of quiet laughter; now they smiled at each other but no longer laughed. Presently they came to an open spot, before which stood the great gates and porter’s lodge of the château. Instinctively both stopped, and Roger raised Michelle’s hand to his lips; it seemed the simplest and most natural thing in the world. She stood still for a while, and there was a pause—the sweetest pause—filled in with the faint and musical sounds of evening. They came back slowly and gently to the every-day world, but the world about them was so beautiful that it seemed rather a continuation of their dream.
“I shall not forget this day as long as I live,” said Roger.
Michelle looked at him a moment with startled eyes, and then replied: “I love these haying-days. I would not miss one if I could help it.”