onfused, did not dare accept;
she hesitated, and half turned her head away. At last she made up her
mind, and delicately pressed her lips to the tips of my fingers; but she
had waited too long, all the water had run away. Then she burst out
laughing, she became a child again, and I saw very well that she was
making fun of me.

I was very silly. I bent forward again. This time I took the water in both
hands and hastened to put them to Babet's lips. She drank, and I felt the
warm kiss from her mouth run up my arms to my breast, which it filled with
heat.

"Oh! how my uncle must sleep!" I murmured to myself.

Just as I said that, I perceived a dark shadow beside me, and, having
turned round, I saw my uncle Lazare, in person, a few paces away, watching
Babet and me as if offended. His cassock appeared quite white in the sun;
in his look I saw reproaches which made me feel inclined to cry.

Babet was very much afraid. She turned quite red, and hurried off
stammering:

"Thanks, Monsieur Jean, I thank you very much."

As for me, wiping my wet hands, I stood motionless and confused before my
uncle Lazare.

The worthy man, with folded arms, and bringing back a corner of his
cassock, watched Babet, who was running up the pathway without turning her
head. Then, when she had disappeared behind the hedges, he lowered his
eyes to me, and I saw his pleasant countenance smile sadly.

"Jean," he said to me, "come into the broad walk. Breakfast is not ready.
We have half an hour to spare."

He set out with his rather heavy tread, avoiding the tufts of grass wet
with dew. A part of the bottom of his cassock that was dragging along the
ground, made a dull crackling sound. He held his breviary under his arm;
but he had forgotten his morning lecture, and he advanced dreamily, with
bowed head, and without uttering a word.

His silence tormented me. He was generally so talkative. My anxiety
increased at each step. He had certainly seen me giving Babet water to
drink. What a sight, O Lord! The young girl, laughing and blushing, kissed
the tips of my fingers, whilst I, standing on tip-toe, stretching out my
arms, was leaning forward as if to kiss her. My action now seemed to me
frightfully audacious. And all my timidity returned. I inquired of myself
how I could have dared to have my fingers kissed so sweetly.

And my uncle Lazare, who said nothing, who continued walking with short
steps in front of me, without giving a single glanc