ith unconscious emotion, stood contemplating the monarch oak
lying prostrate on the ground. Reine had turned pale; her dark eyes
glistened with tears.

"Let us go," murmured she to Julien; "this death of a tree affects me as
if it were that of a Christian."

They took leave of the woodsmen, and reentered the forest. Reine kept
silence and her companion was at a loss to resume the conversation; so
they journeyed along together quietly until they reached a border line,
whence they could perceive the smoke from the roofs of Vivey.

"You have only to go straight down the hill to reach your home," said
she, briefly; "au revoir, Monsieur de Buxieres."

Thus they quitted each other, and, looking back, he saw that she
slackened her speed and went dreamily on in the direction of
Planche-au-Vacher.

CHAPTER V

LOVE'S INDISCRETION

In the mountainous region of Langres, spring can hardly be said to appear
before the end of May. Until that time the cold weather holds its own;
the white frosts, and the sharp, sleety April showers, as well as the
sudden windstorms due to the malign influence of the ice-gods, arrest
vegetation, and only a few of the more hardy plants venture to put forth
their trembling shoots until later. But, as June approaches and the earth
becomes warmed through by the sun, a sudden metamorphosis is effected.
Sometimes a single night is sufficient for the floral spring to burst
forth in all its plenitude. The hedges are alive with lilies and
woodruffs; the blue columbines shake their foolscap-like blossoms along
the green side-paths; the milky spikes of the Virgin plant rise slender
and tall among the bizarre and many-colored orchids. Mile after mile, the
forest unwinds its fairy show of changing scenes. Sometimes one comes
upon a spot of perfect verdure; at other times one wanders in almost
complete darkness under the thick interlacing boughs of the ashtrees,
through which occasional gleams of light fall on the dark soil or on the
spreading ferns. Now the wanderer emerges upon an open space so full of
sunshine that the strawberries are already ripening; near them are
stacked the tender young trees, ready for spacing, and the billets of
wood piled up and half covered with thistle and burdock leaves; and a
little farther away, half hidden by tall weeds, teeming with insects,
rises the peaked top of the woodsman's hut. Here one walks beside deep,
grassy trenches, which appear to continue without end, al