XLI
In the full blaze of an August afternoon Louis Blanc made Barbe take him up the hill to the Bois du Renard. They had locked up the buvette, and the red-haired girl led Bibi by the hand along the field-path to the wood. Her head shone like a piece of red metal close to the blackness of the man’s coat; she had to watch the ground so that Bibi should not stumble.
“My God, but it is hellish to be blind!” he said; “I cannot even see you, you know.”
She helped him over an old, fallen trench at the edge of the wood, and in crossing it he slipped and fell against her. They stood, clinging together on the edge of the rotten bank; but Barbe had a body like steel, and she held the man on his feet with his head resting against her bosom. They remained thus for a moment, Bibi’s face flat against her red blouse as though he were burying his face in an armful of flowers.
“Ah, but you smell good.”
He took great breaths of her, holding her close, and pressing her body to his till it was curved like a bow.
“Do you want to break me, you great rough?”
She was delighted, a sensuous cat, her eyes half closed, her chin resting on the crown of Bibi’s head.
“There is something left in life after all. Let us sit down in the shade.”
“Anywhere?”