to his lips, as if to squeeze from them all Albine's blood. And after
an interval of silence, he continued: 'It's strange, before one's birth,
one dreams of being born.... I was buried somewhere. I was very cold.
I could hear all the life of the world outside buzzing above me. But I
shut my ears despairingly, for I was used to my gloomy den, and enjoyed
some fearful delights in it, so that I never sought to free myself from
all the earth weighing upon my chest. Where could I have been then? Who
was it gave me light?'

He struggled to remember, while Albine now waited in fear and trembling
lest he should really do so. Smiling, she took a handful of her hair and
wound it round the young man's neck, thus fastening him to herself. This
playful act roused him from his musings.

'You're right,' he said, 'I am yours, what does the rest matter? It was
you, was it not, who drew me out of the earth? I must have been under
this garden. What I heard were your steps rattling the little pebbles
in the path. You were looking for me, you brought down upon my head the
songs of the birds, the scent of the pinks, the warmth of the sun. I
fancied that you would find me at last. I waited a long time for you.
But I never expected that you would give yourself to me without your
veil, with your hair undone--the terrible hair which has become so
soft.'

He sat her on his lap, placing his face beside hers.

'Do not let us talk any more. We are alone for ever. We love each
other.'

And thus in all innocence they lingered in each other's arms; for a
long, long time did they remain there forgetfully. The sun rose higher;
and the dust of light fell hotter from the lofty boughs. The yellow and
white and crimson roses were now only a ray of their delight, a sign
of their smiles to one another. They had certainly caused buds to open
around them. The roses crowned their heads and threw garlands about
their waists. And the scent of the roses became so penetrating, so
strong with amorous emotion, that it seemed to be the scent of their own
breath.

At last Serge put up Albine's hair. He raised it in handfuls with
delightful awkwardness, and stuck her comb askew in the enormous
knot that he had heaped upon her head. And as it happened she looked
bewitching thus. Then, rising from the ground, he held out his hands to
her, and supported her waist as she got up. They still smiled without
speaking a word, and slowly they went down the path.

V