“I do trust you, M’sieu’ Amédé,” she whispered in the end: “and you’ll do this for Madame’s sake, will you not? and also Mademoiselle’s. And also,” she added softly, “for mine.”
“Oh! Mam’zelle Fleurette,” Amédé sighed. What he had wished to say was: “I would die for you, beloved of my heart: at a word from you I would lay down my life, or barter my soul.” But Amédé had no command of words, and was now cursing himself for being a clumsy fool. He stowed away the wallet and the bag into the pockets of his breeches, and tucked the casket underneath his blouse.
“And now I must go home, dear Monsieur Amédé,” Fleurette said. “As it is, I am afraid Bibi will be anxious.”
Her hand was on his arm: and with a sudden impulse he stooped and pressed his lips against that exquisite little hand. Fortunately they were still standing in the shadows cast by the poplar-trees, or Amédé must have seen the blush that rose to Fleurette’s cheeks when she felt the delicious thrill of that timid kiss. A soft breeze stirred the branches above their heads, and through the quivering leaves there came a sigh that was like an echo of their own. And above the crests of Pelvoux the waning moon suddenly rent the last clouds that veiled her mystery, and flooded the snowy immensities with a shower of gold. Slowly the shades of night yielded to the magic and the high road glistened like a silvery ribbon winding, snakelike, toward Laragne.
Fleurette gave a sudden start of alarm.
“What is it, Mam’zelle Fleurette,” Amédé asked.
“Someone,” she said. “I saw someone move there—furtively—among the shadows.”
He turned to look. A small figure wrapped in a shawl had just gone past on the other side of the road.
“It is only Adèle,” he said carelessly. “She is going home.”
Not altogether reassured, Fleurette peered into the shadows. She did not think that it was Adèle whom she had seen, or if it was Adèle, there was someone else lurking in the shadows, she felt sure; and though she was not altogether frightened, she felt herself trembling, and her knees giving way under her. No doubt it was in order to save herself from falling that she had leaned more heavily against Amédé’s arm. Certain it is that he put that arm round her, only in order to support her; but the contact of that warm, quivering young body against his breast sent the last shred of his self-control flying away on the evening breeze.
The high road was bathed in honey-coloured light, but these two were standing in the deep shadows cast by the poplar-trees; and the darkness wrapped them round as in a velvety downy blanket. His arm tightened round her shoulders, pressed her closer and closer to his breast, held her there so closely that she could scarcely breathe.
It was only in order to get her breath that she raised her face to his; far be it from me to suggest that it was for any other motive; but this proved the final undoing of poor M’sieu’ Amédé; for the next moment his lips were fastened hungrily on hers, and her sweet young soul went out to him, in a first, a most delicious kiss.
XI
It all seemed like a lovely dream after that: this walking together arm in arm down the high road with the waning moon throwing great patches of silvery light to guide them on their way.
They went through the village, not caring whom they met. They belonged to each other now; that wonderful kiss was a bond between them that only death could sever. That was how they felt; supremely, marvellously happy, thrilled with this new delight, this undreamed joy: and with it all a cloud of measureless sorrow at the impending farewell. The magic words had been spoken: “You love me, Fleurette?” The eternal question to which the only answer is a sigh. No, they did not care whom they met. They could laugh at gossip now: from this night they were tokened to one another, and only M. le Curé’s blessing could make their happiness more complete.
As a matter of fact they met no one, for they avoided the main street of the village and made their way to Lou Mas along narrow bypaths that meandered through orchards of almond-trees heavy with blossom. For the most part they were silent. Fleurette’s little hand rested on Amédé’s arm. Now and then he gave that hand a quick, excited squeeze and this relieved his feelings for the time being. Under his other arm he hugged the casket, the precious treasure that had been the mute but main spring of his happiness. It represented Fleurette’s trust in him; that priceless guerdon he would not have bartered for a kingdom.
“You will not part with Madame’s valuables, will you, Amédé?” she
