a sea of verdure, in front, to right, to left, everywhere. a sea rolling its surging billows of leaves as far as the horizon, unhindered by house, or screen of wall, or dusty road. a desert, virgin, hallowed sea, displaying its wild sweetness in the innocence of solitude. the sun alone came thither, weltering in the meadows in a sheet of gold, threading the paths with the frolicsome scamper of its beams, letting its fine-spun, flaming locks droop through the trees, sipping from the springs with amber lips that thrilled the water. beneath that flaming dust the vast garden ran riot like some delighted beast let loose at the world's very end, far from everything and free from everything. so prodigal was the luxuriance of foliage, so overflowing the tide of herbage, that from end to end it all seemed hidden, flooded, submerged. nought could be seen but slopes of green, stems springing up like fountains, billowy masses, woodland curtains closely drawn, mantles of creepers trailing over the ground, and flights of giant boughs swooping down upon every side.

amidst that tremendous luxuriance of vegetation even lengthy scrutiny could barely make out the bygone plan of the paradou. in the foreground, in a sort of immense amphitheatre, must have lain the flower garden, whose fountains were now sunken and dry, its stone balustrades shattered, its flight of steps all warped, and its statues overthrown, patches of their whiteness gleaming amidst the dusky stretches of turf. farther back, behind the blue line of a sheet of water, stretched a maze of fruit-trees; farther still rose towering woodland, its dusky, violet depths streaked with bands of light. it was a forest which had regained virginity, an endless stretch of tree-tops rising one above the other, tinged with yellowish green and pale green and vivid green, according to the variety of the species.

on the right, the forest scaled some hills, dotting them with little clumps of pine-trees, and dying away in straggling brushwood, while a huge barrier of barren rock, heaped together like the fallen wreckage of a mountain, shut out all view beyond. flaming growths there cleaved the rugged soil, monstrous plants lay motionless in the heat, like drowsing reptiles; a silvery streak, a foamy splash that glistened in the distance like a cloud of pearls, revealed the presence of a waterfall, the source of those tranquil streams that lazily skirted the flower-garden. lastly, on the left the river flowed through a vast stretch of meadowland, where it parted into four streamlets which winded fitfully beneath the rushes, between the willows, behind the taller trees. and far away into the distance grassy patches prolonged the lowland freshness, forming a landscape steeped in bluish haze, where a gleam of daylight slowly melted into the verdant blue of sunset. the paradou--its flower-garden, forest, rocks, streams, and meadows--filled the whole breadth of sky.

'the paradou!' stammered serge, stretching out his arms as if to clasp the entire garden to his breast.

he tottered, and albine had to seat him in an armchair. there he sat for two whole hours intently gazing, without opening his lips, his chin resting on his hands. at times his eyelids fluttered and a flush rose to his cheeks. slowly he looked, profoundly amazed. it was all too vast, too complex, too overpowering.

'i cannot see, i cannot understand,' he cried, stretching out his hands to albine with a gesture of uttermost weariness.

the girl came and leant over the back of his armchair. taking his head between her hands, she compelled him to look again, and softly said:

'it's all our own. nobody will ever come in. when you are well again, we will go for walks there. we shall have room enough for walking all our lives. we'll go wherever you like. where would you like to go?'

he smiled.

'oh! not far,' he murmured. 'the first day only two steps or so beyond the door. i should surely fall---- see, i'll go over there, under that tree close to the window.'

but she resumed: 'would you like to go into the flower-garden, the parterre? you shall see the roses--they have over-run everything, even the old paths are all covered with them. or would you like the orchard better? i can only crawl into it on my hands and knees, the boughs are so bowed down with fruit. but we'll go even farther if you feel strong enough. we'll go as far as the forest, right into the depths of shade, far, far away; so far that we'll sleep out there when night steals over us. or else, some morning, we can climb up yonder to the summit of those rocks. you'll see the plants which make me quake; you'll see the springs, such a shower of water! what fun it will be to feel the spray all over our faces! . . . but if you prefer to walk along the hedges, beside a brook, we must go round by the meadows. it is so nice under the willows in the evening, at sunset. one can lie down on the grass and watch the little green frogs hopping about on the rushes.'

'no, no,' said serge, 'you weary me, i don't want to go so far. . . . i will only go a couple of steps, that will be more than enough.'

'even i,' she still continued, 'even i have not yet been able to go everywhere. there are many nooks i don't know. i have walked and walked in it for years, and still i feel sure there are unknown spots around, places where the shade must be cooler and the turf softer. listen, i have always fancied there must be one especially in which i should like to live for ever. i know it's somewhere; i must have passed it by, or perhaps it's hidden so far away that i have never even got as far, with all my rambles. but we'll look for it together, serge, won't we? and live there.'

'no, no, be quiet,' stammered the young man. 'i don't understand what you are saying. you're killing me.'

for a moment she let him sob in her arms. it troubled and grieved her that she could find no words to soothe him.

'isn't the paradou as beautiful, then, as you fancied it?' she asked at last.

he raised his face and answered:

'i don't know. it was quite little, and now it is ever growing bigger and bigger---- take me away, hide me.'

she led him back to bed, soothing him like a child, lulling him with a fib.

'there, there! it's not true, there is no garden. it was only a story that i told you. go, sleep in peace.'