The sweet charm of warm nights and of streams glittering in the moonlight penetrated us.  It was delightful to be alive and to float along thus, and to dream and to feel at one’s side a sympathetic and beautiful young woman.

I was somewhat affected, somewhat agitated, somewhat intoxicated by the pale brightness of the night and the consciousness of my proximity to a lovely woman.

“Come and sit beside me,” she said.

I obeyed.

She went on: 

“Recite some poetry for me.”

This appeared to be rather too much.  I declined; she persisted.  She certainly wanted to play the game, to have a whole orchestra of sentiment, from the moon to the rhymes of poets.  In the end I had to yield, and, as if in mockery, I repeated to her a charming little poem by Louis Bouilhet, of which the following are the last verses: 

   “I hate the poet who with tearful eye
   Murmurs some name while gazing tow’rds a star,
   Who sees no magic in the earth or sky,
   Unless Lizette or Ninon be not far.

   “The bard who in all Nature nothing sees
   Divine, unless a petticoat he ties
   Amorously to the branches of the trees
   Or nightcap to the grass, is scarcely wise.

   “He has not heard the Eternal’s thunder tone,
   The voice of Nature in her various moods,
   Who cannot tread the dim ravines alone,
   And of no woman dream mid whispering woods.”

I expected some reproaches.  Nothing of the sort.  She murmured: 

“How true it is!”

I was astonished.  Had she understood?

Our boat had gradually approached the bank and become entangled in the branches of a willow which impeded its progress.  I placed my arm round my companion’s waist, and very gently approached my lips towards her neck.  But she repulsed me with an abrupt, angry movement.

“Have done, pray!  How rude you are!”

I tried to draw her toward me.  She resisted, caught hold of the tree, and was near flinging us both into the water.  I deemed it prudent to cease my importunities.

She said: 

“I would rather capsize you.  I feel so happy.  I want to dream.  This is so delightful.”  Then, in a slightly malicious tone, she added: 

“Have you already forgotten the verses you repeated to me just now?”

She was right.  I became silent.

She went on: 

“Come, now!”

And I plied the oars once more.

I began to think the night long and my position ridiculous.

My companion said to me: 

“Will you make me a promise?”

“Yes.  What is it?”

“To remain quiet, well-behaved and discreet, if I permit you—­”

“What?  Say what you mean!”

“Here is what I mean:  I want to lie down on my back at the bottom of the boat with you by my side.  But I forbid you to touch me, to embrace me —­in short—­to caress me.”