se tiny insects. They were continually
compelled to throw away the beverages, to cover the plates, and
while eating to shield the food with infinite precautions.

It amused Yvette. Servigny took care to shelter what she bore to her
mouth, to guard her glass, to hold his handkerchief stretched out
over her head like a roof. But the Marquise, disgusted, became
nervous, and the end of the dinner came quickly. Yvette, who had not
forgotten Servigny's proposition, said to him:

"Now we'll go to the island."

Her mother cautioned her in a languid tone: "Don't be late, above
all things. We will escort you to the ferry."

And they started in couples, the young girl and her admirer walking
in front, on the road to the shore. They heard, behind them, the
Marquise and Saval speaking very rapidly in low tones. All was dark,
with a thick, inky darkness. But the sky swarmed with grains of
fire, and seemed to sow them in the river, for the black water was
flecked with stars.

The frogs were croaking monotonously upon the bank, and numerous
nightingales were uttering their low, sweet song in the calm and
peaceful air.

Yvette suddenly said: "Gracious! They are not walking behind us any
more, where are they?" And she called out: "Mamma!" No voice
replied. The young girl resumed: "At any rate, they can't be far
away, for I heard them just now."

Servigny murmured: "They must have gone back. Your mother was cold,
perhaps." And he drew her along.

Before them a light gleamed. It was the tavern of Martinet,
restaurant-keeper and fisherman. At their call a man came out of the
house, and they got into a large boat which was moored among the
weeds of the shore.

The ferryman took his oars, and the unwieldy barge, as it advanced,
disturbed the sleeping stars upon the water and set them into a mad
dance, which gradually calmed down after they had passed. They
touched the other shore and disembarked beneath the great trees. A
cool freshness of damp earth permeated the air under the lofty and
clustered branches, where there seemed to be as many nightingales as
there were leaves. A distant piano began to play a popular waltz.

Servigny took Yvette's arm and very gently slipped his hand around
her waist and gave her a slight hug.

"What are you thinking about?" he said.

"I? About nothing at all. I am very happy!"

"Then you don't love me?"

"Oh, yes, Muscade, I love you, I love you a great deal; only leave
me alone. It is too be