er. At last he sought some shelter
against the inclement weather, knowing quite well that they would
certainly come out, however much they might promise one another not to
do so when it rained. To find a shelter he only had to disturb one of
the timber-stacks; pulling out several pieces of wood and arranging them
so that they would move easily, in such wise that he could displace and
replace them at pleasure.

From that time forward the lovers possessed a sort of low and narrow
sentry-box, a square hole, which was only big enough to hold them
closely squeezed together on a beam which they had left at the bottom
of the little cell. Whenever it rained, the first to arrive would take
shelter here; and on finding themselves together again they would listen
with delight to the rain beating on the piles of planks. Before and
around them, through the inky blackness of the night, came a rush of
water which they could not see, but which resounded continuously like
the roar of a mob. They were nevertheless quite alone, as though they
had been at the end of the world or beneath the sea. They never felt so
happy, so isolated, as when they found themselves in that timber-stack,
in the midst of some such deluge which threatened to carry them away at
every moment. Their bent knees almost reached the opening, and though
they thrust themselves back as far as possible, the spray of the rain
bathed their cheeks and hands. The big drops, falling from the planks,
splashed at regular intervals at their feet. The brown pelisse kept them
warm, and the nook was so small that Miette was compelled to sit almost
on Silvere's knees. And they would chatter and then lapse into silence,
overcome with languor, lulled by the warmth of their embrace and the
monotonous beating of the shower. For hours and hours they remained
there, with that same enjoyment of the rain which prompts little
children to stroll along solemnly in stormy weather with open umbrellas
in their hands. After a while they came to prefer the rainy evenings,
though their parting became more painful on those occasions. Miette was
obliged to climb the wall in the driving rain, and cross the puddles of
the Jas-Meiffren in perfect darkness. As soon as she had left his arms,
she was lost to Silvere amidst the gloom and the noise of the falling
water. In vain he listened, he was deafened, blinded. However, the
anxiety caused by this brusque separation proved an additional charm,
and, until t