d was still further to the left,
near a tier of rocks which there began to soar upwards. There you found
yourself in a veritable land of fire, in a natural hot-house, on which
the sun fell freely. At first, you had to make your way through huge,
ungainly fig trees, which stretched out grey branches like arms weary of
lying still, and whose villose leather-like foliage was so dense that
in order to pass one constantly had to snap off twigs that had sprouted
from the old wood. Next you passed on through groves of strawberry trees
with verdure like that of giant box-plants, and with scarlet berries
which suggested maize plants decked out with crimson ribbon. Then
there came a jungle of nettle-trees, medlars and jujube trees, which
pomegranates skirted with never-fading verdure. The fruit of the latter,
big as a child's fist, was scarcely set as yet; and the purple blossoms,
fluttering at the ends of the branches, looked like the palpitating
wings of the humming birds, which do not even bend the shoots on which
they perch. Lastly, there was a forest of orange and lemon trees growing
vigorously in the open air. Their straight trunks stood like rows of
brown columns, while their shiny leaves showed brightly against the
blue of the sky, and cast upon the ground a network of light and shadow,
figuring the palms of some Indian fabric. Here there was shade beside
which that of the European orchard seemed colourless, insipid; the warm
joy of sunlight, softened into flying gold-dust; the glad certainty
of evergreen foliage; the penetrating perfume of blossom, and the more
subdued fragrance of fruit; all helping to fill the body with the soft
languor of tropical lands.

'And now let us breakfast,' cried Albine, clapping her hands. 'It must
be at least nine o'clock, and I am very hungry.'

She had risen from the ground. Serge confessed that he, too, would find
some food acceptable.

'You goose!' she said, 'you didn't understand, then, that I brought you
here to breakfast. We sha'n't die of hunger here. We can help ourselves
to all there is.'

They went along under the trees, pushing aside the branches and making
their way to the thickest of the fruit. Albine, who went first, turned,
and in her flute-like voice asked her companion: 'What do you like best?
Pears, apricots, cherries, or currants? I warn you that the pears are
still green; but they are very nice all the same.'

Serge decided upon having cherries, and Albine agreed i