Abbé Mouret looked at him for a moment. He envied the slumber of that dust-wallowing saint. He wished to drive the flies away, but they persistently returned, and clung around the purple lips of the Brother, who was quite unconscious of their presence. Then the Abbé strode over his big body and entered the Paradou. XII Albine was seated on a patch of grass a few paces away from the wall. She sprang up as she caught sight of Serge. ‘Ah! you have come!’ she cried, trembling from head to foot. ‘Yes,’ he answered calmly, ‘I have come.’ She flung herself upon his neck, but she did not kiss him. To her bare arms the beads of his neckband seemed very cold. She scrutinised him, already feeling uneasy, and resuming: ‘What is the matter with you? Why don’t you kiss my cheeks as you used to do? Oh! if you are ill, I will cure you once again. Now that you are here, all our old happiness will return. There will be no more wretchedness.... See! I am smiling. You must smile, too, Serge.’ But his face remained grave. ‘I have been troubled, too,’ she went on. ‘I am still quite pale, am I not? For a whole week I have been living on that patch of grass, where you found me. I wanted one thing only, to see you coming back through the breach in the wall. At every sound I sprang up and rushed to meet you. But, alas! it was not you I heard. It was only the leaves rustling in the wind. But I was sure that you would come. I should have waited for you for years.’ Then she asked him: ‘Do you still love me?’ ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘I love you still.’ They stood looking at each other, feeling rather ill at ease. And deep silence fell between them. Serge, who evinced perfect calmness, did not attempt to break it. Albine twice opened her mouth to speak, but closed it immediately, surprised at the words that rose to her lips. She could summon up nothing but expressions tinged with bitterness. She felt tears welling into her eyes. What could be the matter with her that she did not feel happy now that her love had come back? ‘Listen to me,’ she said at last. ‘We must not stay here. It is that hole that freezes us! Let us go back to our old home. Give me your hand.’ They plunged into the depths of the Paradou. Autumn was fast approaching, and the trees seemed anxious as they stood there with their yellowing crests from which the leaves were falling one by one. The paths were already littered with dead foliage soaked with moisture, which gave out a sound as of sighing beneath one’s tread. And away beyond the lawns misty vapour ascended, throwing a mourning veil over the blue distance. And the whole garden was wrapped in silence, broken only by some sorrowful moans that sounded quiveringly. Serge began to shiver beneath the avenue of tall trees, along which they were walking. ‘How cold it is here!’ said he in an undertone.