houlders, he added: 'Yes, my word, she is a nice hussy.... Well,
till next time, Monsieur le Cure. I'm always at your disposal.'

Abbe Mouret, however, had no time to accept the Philosopher's challenge.
A door suddenly opened at the end of the vestibule; a dazzling breach
was made in the black darkness of the wall, and through the breach came
a vision of a virgin forest, a great depth of woodland, beneath a
flood of sunbeams. In that sudden blaze of light the priest distinctly
perceived certain far-away things: a large yellow flower in the middle
of a lawn, a sheet of water falling from a lofty rock, a colossal tree
filled with a swarm of birds; and all this steeped, lost, blazing in
such a tangle of greenery, such riotous luxuriance of vegetation, that
the whole horizon seemed one great burst of shooting foliage. The door
banged to, and everything vanished.

'Ah! the jade!' cried Jeanbernat, 'she was in the Paradou again!'

Albine was now laughing on the threshold of the vestibule. She wore
an orange-coloured skirt, with a large red kerchief fastened round her
waist, thus looking like some gipsy in holiday garb. And she went on
laughing, her head thrown back, her bosom swelling with mirth, delighted
with her flowers, wild flowers which she had plaited into her fair hair,
fastened to her neck, her bodice, and her bare slender golden arms. She
seemed like a huge nosegay, exhaling a powerful perfume.

'Ay, you are a beauty!' growled the old man. 'You smell of weeds enough
to poison one--would any one think she was sixteen, that doll?'

Albine remained unabashed, however, and laughed still more heartily.
Doctor Pascal, who was her great friend, let her kiss him.

'So you are not frightened in the Paradou?' he asked.

'Frightened? What of?' she said, her eyes wide open with astonishment.
'The walls are too high, no one can get in. There's only myself. It is
my garden, all my very own. A fine big one, too. I haven't found out
where it ends yet.'

'And the animals?' interrupted the doctor.

'The animals? Oh! they don't hurt; they all know me well.'

'But it is very dark under the trees?'

'Course! there's shade: if there were none, the sun would burn my face
up. It is very pleasant in the shade among the leaves.'

She flitted about, filling the little garden with the rustling sweep of
her skirts, and scattering round the pungent odour of wild flowers which
clung to her. She had smiled at Abbe Mouret without trace