ed her printed calico gown, which was grey, with small blue
flowers. I sunk down deeper in the grass, I heard my heart thumping
against the earth and almost raising me with slight jerks. My breast was
burning now, I no longer felt the freshness of the dew.

The young girl came nimbly down the pathway, her skirts skimming the
ground with a swinging motion that charmed me, I saw her at full length,
quite erect, in her proud and happy gracefulness. She had no idea I was
there behind the willows; she walked with a light step, she ran without
giving a thought to the wind, which slightly raised her gown. I could
distinguish her feet, trotting along quickly, quickly, and a piece of her
white stockings, which was perhaps as large as one's hand, and which made
me blush in a manner that was alike sweet and painful.

Oh! then, I saw nothing else, neither the Durance, nor the willows, nor
the whiteness of the sky. What cared I for the valley! It was no longer my
sweetheart; I was quite indifferent to its joy and its sadness. What cared
I for my friends, the stories, and the trees on the hills! The river could
run away all at once if it liked; I would not have regretted it.

And the spring, I did not care a bit about the spring! Had it borne away
the sun that warmed my back, its leaves, its rays, all its May morning, I
should have remained there, in ecstasy, gazing at Babet, running along the
pathway, and swinging her skirts deliciously. For Babet had taken the
valley's place in my heart, Babet was the spring, I had never spoken to
her. Both of us blushed when we met one another in my uncle Lazare's
church. I could have vowed she detested me.

She talked on that particular day for a few minutes with the women who
were washing. The sound of her pearly laughter reached as far as me,
mingled with the loud voice of the Durance. Then she stooped down to take
a little water in the hollow of her hand; but the bank was high, and
Babet, who was on the point of slipping, saved herself by clutching the
grass. I gave a frightful shudder, which made my blood run cold. I rose
hastily, and, without feeling ashamed, without reddening, ran to the young
girl. She cast a startled look at me; then she began to smile. I bent
down, at the risk of falling. I succeeded in filling my right hand with
water by keeping my fingers close together. And I presented this new sort
of cup to Babet' asking her to drink.

The women who were washing laughed. Babet, c