The sun having shown itself again, some delightful days followed, the months slipping away amid monotonous felicity.  They never knew the date, they were for ever mixing up the days of the week.  Every day, after the second breakfast, came endless strolls, long walks across the tableland planted with apple trees, over the grassy country roads, along the banks of the Seine through the meadows as far as La Roche-Guyon; and there were still more distant explorations, perfect journeys on the opposite side of the river, amid the cornfields of Bonnieres and Jeufosse.  A person who was obliged to leave the neighbourhood sold them an old boat for thirty francs, so that they also had the river at their disposal, and, like savages, became seized with a passion for it, living on its waters for days together, rowing about, discovering new countries, and lingering for hours under the willows on the banks, or in little creeks, dark with shade.  Betwixt the eyots scattered along the stream there was a shifting and mysterious city, a network of passages along which, with the lower branches of the trees caressingly brushing against them, they softly glided, alone, as it were, in the world, with the ringdoves and the kingfishers.  He at times had to spring out upon the sand, with bare legs, to push off the skiff.  She bravely plied the oars, bent on forcing her way against the strongest currents, and exulting in her strength.  And in the evening they ate cabbage soup in the kitchen, laughing at Melie’s stupidity, as they had laughed at it the day before; to begin the morrow just in the same fashion.

Every evening, however, Christine said to Claude: 

’Now, my dear, you must promise me one thing—­that you’ll set to work to-morrow.’

‘Yes, to-morrow; I give you my word.’

’And you know if you don’t, I shall really get angry this time.  Is it I who prevent you?’

’You! what an idea.  Since I came here to work—­dash it all! you’ll see to-morrow.’

On the morrow they started off again in the skiff; she looked at him with an embarrassed smile when she saw that he took neither canvas nor colours.  Then she kissed him, laughing, proud of her power, moved by the constant sacrifice he made to her.  And then came fresh affectionate remonstrances:  ’To-morrow, ah! to-morrow she would tie him to his easel!’

However, Claude did make some attempts at work.  He began a study of the slopes of Jeufosse, with the Seine in the foreground; but Christine followed him to the islet where he had installed himself, and sat down on the grass close to him with parted lips, her eyes watching the blue sky.  And she looked so pretty there amidst the verdure, in that solitude, where nothing broke the silence but the rippling of the water, that every minute he relinquished his palette to nestle by her side.  On another occasion, he was altogether charmed by an old farmhouse, shaded by some antiquated apple trees which had grown to