"Poor child!" said Sabine.
They were silent.
"If only it were always as it is now!" sighed Christophe.
She raised her laughing eyes to his, and then dropped them. He saw that she was working.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
(The fence of ivy that separated the two gardens was between them.)
"Look!" she said, lifting a basin that she was holding in heir lap. "I am shelling peas."
She sighed.
"But that is not unpleasant," he raid, laughing.
"Oh!" she replied, "it is disgusting, always having to think of dinner."