Could the tree which Serge and Albine sought be one of those colossal oaks? or was it one of those lovely planes, or one of those pale, maidenly birches, or one of those creaking elms? Albine and Serge still plodded on, unable to tell, completely lost amongst the crowding trees. For a moment they thought they had found the object of their quest in the midst of a group of walnut trees from whose thick foliage fell so cold a shadow that they shivered beneath it. Further on they felt another thrill of emotion as they came upon a little wood of chestnut trees, green with moss and thrusting out big strange-shaped branches, on which one might have built an aerial village. But further still Albine caught sight of a clearing, whither they both ran hastily. Here, in the midst of a carpet of fine turf, a locust tree had set a very toppling of greenery, a foliaged Babel, whose ruins were covered with the strangest vegetation. Stones, sucked up from the ground by the mounting sap, still remained adhering to the trunk. High branches bent down to earth again, and, taking root, surrounded the parent tree with lofty arches, a nation of new trunks which ever increased and multiplied. Upon the bark, seared with bleeding wounds, were ripening fruit-pods; the mere effort of bearing fruit strained the old monster’s skin until it split. The young folks walked slowly round it, passing under the arched branches which formed as it were the streets of a city, and stared at the gaping cracks of the naked roots. Then they went off, for they had not felt there the supernatural happiness they sought. ‘Where are we?’ asked Serge. Albine did not know. She had never before come to this part of the park. They were now in a grove of cytisus and acacias, from whose clustering blossoms fell a soft, almost sugary perfume. ‘We are quite lost,’ she laughed. ‘I don’t know these trees at all.’ ‘But the garden must come to an end somewhere,’ said Serge. ‘When we get to the end, you will know where you are, won’t you?’ ‘No,’ she answered, waving her hands afar. They fell into silence; never yet had the vastness of the park filled them with such pleasure. They joyed at knowing that they were alone in so far-spreading a domain that even they themselves could not reach its limits. ‘Well, we are lost,’ said Serge, gaily; then humbly drawing near her he inquired: ‘You are not afraid, are you?’ ‘Oh! no. There’s no one except you and me in the garden. What could I be afraid of? The walls are very high. We can’t see them, but they guard us, you know.’ Serge was now quite close to her, and he murmured, ‘But a little time ago you were afraid of me.’ She looked him straight in the face, perfectly calm, without the least faltering in her glance. ‘You hurt me,’ she replied, ‘but you are different now. Why should I be afraid of you?’ ‘Then you will let me hold you like this. We will go back under the trees.’