must shelter it with a canopy of foliage, with its
carpet of soft silky turf, and its walls of tangled greenery, which the
very birds themselves cannot penetrate.

She raised her voice, and threw one of her arms round Serge's neck, as
she continued: 'Tell me, now; shall we search for it together? We shall
surely find it. You, who are strong, will push aside the heavy branches,
while I crawl underneath and search the brakes. When I grow weary, you
can carry me; you can help me to cross the streams; and if we happen
to lose ourselves, you can climb the trees and try to discover our way
again. Ah! and how delightful it will be for us to sit, side by side,
beneath the green canopy in the centre of the clearing! I have been told
that in one minute one may there live the whole of life. Tell me, my
dear Serge, shall we set off to-morrow and scour the park, from bush to
bush, until we have found what we want?'

Serge shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. 'What would be the use?' he
said. 'Is it not pleasant in the parterre? Don't you think we ought to
remain among the flowers, instead of seeking a greater happiness that
lies so far away?'

'It is there that the dead lady lies buried,' murmured Albine, falling
back into her reverie. 'It was the joy of being there that killed her.
The tree casts a shade, whose charm is deathly.... I would willingly die
so. We would clasp one another there, and we would die, and none would
ever find us again.'

'Don't talk like that,' interrupted Serge. 'You make me feel so unhappy.
I would rather that we should live in the bright sunlight, far away from
that fatal shade. Your words distress me, as though they urged us to
some irreparable misfortune. It must be forbidden to sit beneath a tree
whose shade can thus affect one.'

'Yes,' Albine gravely declared, 'it is forbidden. All the folks of the
countryside have told me that it is forbidden.'

Then silence fell. Serge rose from the couch where he had been lolling,
and laughed, and pretended that he did not care about stories. The sun
was setting, however, before Albine would consent to go into the garden
for even a few minutes. She led Serge to the left, along the enclosing
wall, to a spot strewn with fragments of stone, and woodwork, and
ironwork, bristling too with briars and brambles. It was the site of the
old mansion, still black with traces of the fire which had destroyed
the building. Underneath the briars lay rotting timbers and fire-