The dust and heat invaded everything, except our little favorite nook of the garden. Yet on all sides, in the dust and heat, the blaze of the burning sun, the throng of laborers chattered, made merry, and kept in continual movement. As for me, I looked at Macha, sleeping so sweetly on our bench, her face shaded by her cambric handkerchief; the black juicy cherries on the plate; our light, dazzlingly clean dresses, the carafe of clear water, where the sun's rays were playing in a little rainbow; and I felt a sense of rare comfort. "What must I do?" thought I; "perhaps it is wicked to be so happy? But can we diffuse our happiness around us? How, and to whom, can we wholly consecrate ourselves--ourselves and this very happiness?" The sun had disappeared behind the tops of the old birch-trees bordering the path, the dust had subsided; the distances of the landscape stood out, clear and luminous, under the slanting rays; the clouds had dispersed entirely, long ago; on the other side of the trees I could see, near the barn, the pointed tops rise upon three new stacks of grain, and the peasants descend from them; finally, for the last time that day, the _telégas_ passed rapidly, making the air resound with their noisy jolts; the women were going homewards, singing, their rakes on their shoulders, and their binding withes hanging at their girdles; and still Sergius Mikaïlovitch did not come, although long ago I had seen him at the foot of the mountain. Suddenly he appeared at the end of the path, from a direction where I had not been looking for him at all, for he had to skirt the ravine to reach it. Raising his hat he came towards me, his face lighted up with sudden joy. At the sight of Macha, still asleep, his eyes twinkled, he bit his lip, and began tip-toeing elaborately. I saw at once that he was in one of those fits of causeless gayety which I liked so much in him, and which, between ourselves, we called "_le transport sauvage_." At such times he was like a boy just let out of school, his whole self from head to foot instinct with delight and happiness. "How do you do, little violet, how goes the day with you? Well?" said he, in a low voice, coming near and pressing my hand.... "And with me? oh, charmingly, also!" he replied to my similar question, "to-day I am really not over thirteen years old; I would like to ride a stick-horse,--I want to climb the trees!" "_Le transport sauvage!_" I commented, looking into his laughing eyes, and feeling this _transport sauvage_ take possession of me also. "Yes," he murmured, at the same time raising his eyebrows with an enquiring glance, and keeping back a smile. "But why are you so furious with our poor Macha Karlovna?" In fact I then became conscious that, while I was gazing up at him and continuing to brandish my linden bough, I had whipped off Macha's handkerchief, and was sweeping her face with the leaves. I could not help laughing.