dered
over her rosy face, which lay upon his shoulder with the restfulness of
sleep. Her eyelids were soft as silk. Her moist lips were curved into a
bewitching smile, her brow was pure white, with just a rim of gold below
her hair. He would have liked to give his whole being with the word
which seemed to be upon his tongue but which he could not utter. Again
he bent over her, and seemed to consider on what sweet spot of that fair
face he should whisper the supreme syllables. But he said nothing, he
only breathed a little sigh. Then he kissed Albine's lips.

'Albine, I love you!'

'I love you, Serge!'

Then they stopped short, thrilled, quivering with that first love kiss.
She had opened her eyes quite widely. He was standing with his lips
protruding slightly towards hers. They looked at each other without a
blush. They felt they were under the influence of some sovereign power.
It was like the realisation of a long dreamt-of meeting, in which they
beheld themselves grown, made one for the other, for ever joined. For a
moment they remained wondering, raising their eyes to the solemn vault
of greenery above them, questioning the tranquil nation of trees as if
seeking an echo of their kiss. But, beneath the serene complacence of
the forest, they yielded to prolonged, ringing lovers' gaiety, full of
all the tenderness now born.

'Tell me how long you have loved me. Tell me everything. Did you love me
that day when you lay sleeping upon my hand? Did you love me when I fell
out of the cherry tree, and you stood beneath it, stretching out your
arms to catch me, and looking so pale? Did you love me when you took
hold of me round the waist in the meadows to help me over the streams?'

'Hush, let me speak. I have always loved you. And you, did you love me;
did you?'

Until the evening closed round them they lived upon that one word
'love,' in which they ever seemed to find some new sweetness. They
brought it into every sentence, ejaculated it inconsequentially, merely
for the pleasure they found in pronouncing it. Serge, however, did not
think of pressing a second kiss to Albine's lips. The perfume of the
first sufficed them in their purity. They had found their way again, or
rather had stumbled upon it, for they had paid no attention to the paths
they took. As they left the forest, twilight had fallen, and the moon
was rising, round and yellow, between the black foliage. It was a
delightful walk home through the park, wi