d
to point out Notre-Dame by name, for Christine did not recognise
the edifice from the rear, where it looked like a colossal creature
crouching down between its flying buttresses, which suggested sprawling
paws, while above its long leviathan spine its towers rose like a double
head. Their real find that day, however, was at the western point of
the island, that point like the prow of a ship always riding at anchor,
afloat between two swift currents, in sight of Paris, but ever unable
to get into port. They went down some very steep steps there, and
discovered a solitary bank planted with lofty trees. It was a charming
refuge--a hermitage in the midst of a crowd. Paris was rumbling around
them, on the quays, on the bridges, while they at the water's edge
tasted the delight of being alone, ignored by the whole world. From that
day forth that bank became a little rustic coign of theirs, a favourite
open-air resort, where they took advantage of the sunny hours, when
the great heat of the studio, where the red-hot stove kept roaring,
oppressed them too much, filling their hands with a fever of which they
were afraid.

Nevertheless, Christine had so far objected to be accompanied farther
than the Mail. At the Quai des Ormes she always bade Claude go back,
as if Paris, with her crowds and possible encounters, began at the long
stretch of quays which she had to traverse on her way home. But Passy
was so far off, and she felt so dull at having to go such a distance
alone, that gradually she gave way. She began by allowing Claude to see
her as far as the Hotel de Ville; then as far as the Pont-Neuf; at last
as far as the Tuileries. She forgot the danger; they walked arm in arm
like a young married couple; and that constantly repeated promenade,
that leisurely journey over the self-same ground by the river side,
acquired an infinite charm, full of a happiness such as could scarcely
be surpassed in after-times. They truly belonged to each other, though
they had not erred. It seemed as if the very soul of the great city,
rising from the river, wrapped them around with all the love that had
throbbed behind the grey stone walls through the long lapse of ages.

Since the nipping colds of December, Christine only came in the
afternoon, and it was about four o'clock, when the sun was sinking, that
Claude escorted her back on his arm. On days when the sky was clear,
they could see the long line of quays stretching away into space
dire