She was listening to the bird in ecstasy.  She felt an infinite longing for happiness, for some sudden demonstration of tenderness, for the revelation of super-human poetry, and she felt such a softening at her heart, and relaxation of her nerves, that she began to cry, without knowing why, and now the young man was straining her close to him, and she did not remove his arm; she did not think of it.  Suddenly the nightingale stopped, and a voice called out in the distance: 

“Henriette!”

“Do not reply,” he said in a low voice; “you will drive the bird away.”

But she had no idea of doing so, and they remained in the same position for some time.  Madame Dufour had sat down somewhere or other, for from time to time they heard the stout lady break out into little bursts of laughter.

The girl was still crying; she was filled with strange sensations.  Henri’s head was on her shoulder, and suddenly he kissed her on the lips.  She was surprised and angry, and, to avoid him, she stood up.

They were both very pale, when they quitted their grassy retreat.  The blue sky looked dull to them, and the ardent sun was clouded over to their eyes, but they perceived not the solitude and silence.  They walked quickly side by side, without speaking or touching each other, for they appeared to be irreconcilable enemies, as if disgust had sprung up between them, and hatred between their souls, and from time to time Henriette called out:  “Mamma!”

By-and-bye they heard a noise in a thicket, and the stout lady appeared looking rather confused, and her companion’s face was wrinkled with smiles which he could not check.

Madame Dufour took his arm, and they returned to the boats, and Henri, who was going on first, still without speaking, by the girl’s side, and at last they got back to Bezons.  Monsieur Dufour, who had got sober, was waiting for them very impatiently, while the young man with the yellow hair, was having a mouthful of something to eat, before leaving the inn.  The carriage was in the yard, with the horse in, and the grandmother, who had already got in, was very frightened at the thought of being overtaken by night, before they got back to Paris, as the outskirts were not safe.

They shook hands, and the Dufour family drove off.

“Good-bye, until we meet again!” the oarsman cried, and the answer they got was a sigh and a tear.

* * * * *

Two months later, as Henri was going along the Rue des Martyrs, he saw Dufour, Ironmonger over a door, and so he went in, and saw the stout lady sitting at the counter.  They recognized each other immediately, and after an interchange of polite greetings, he asked after them all.

“And how is Mademoiselle Henriette?” he inquired, specially.

“Very well, thank you; she is married.”

“Ah!” ...  But mastering his feelings, he added:  “Whom was she married to?”