It was October. The larks were singing merrily. Mounted upon Blanquet (or Blanchet), her favorite horse, the little one, in obedience to her father's orders, was out in search of Renaud, and she spied him at a distance, walking backward, playing the rope-maker. From a piece of canvas tied around his waist and swelling out in front of him, like an apron turned up to make a great pocket, he was taking little bunches of white and black hair alternately, braiding them together and twisting them into a rope, which grew visibly longer. A child was turning the thick wooden wheel upon which the _séden_, already of considerable length, was wound; and Renaud--keeping time to the wheel, which struck a dull blow against something or other at every revolution--was singing a ballad which floated to Livette's ears on the gentle breeze that was blowing, like a sweet, strong call from the love of which she as yet knew nothing. "N'use pas sur les routes Tes souliers; Descends plutôt le Rhône En bateau. "Laisse Lyon, Valence, De côté; Salue-les de la tête Sous les ponts." He had a fine voice, smooth and clear, powerful without effort, and of wide range. "Avignon est la reine---- Passe encor; Tu ne verras qu'en Arles Tes amours---- "La plaine est belle et grande, Compagnon---- Prends tes amours en croupe, En avant!"[1] Livette had stopped her horse, to hear better. It was in the morning. In the light there was the reflection that tells that the day is young, that makes hope dance in hearts of sixteen, and sows hope anew even in the hearts of the old. A vague hope that is naught but the desire to love; but its loss, bitterer than death, makes the thought of death a consolation! "Prends tes amours en croupe---- En avant!" the singer repeated, and the little one involuntarily urged her horse toward the song that called to her to come. "Aha!" said Renaud, pausing in his work, "aha! young lady! you are astir early!--with a white horse that will soon be all red!" "Yes," she said, laughing, "with gnats and gadflies; there are swarms of them! too many, by my faith in God!" "You are covered with them, young lady, as a bit of honey is covered with bees, or a tuft of flowering genesta! But what brings you here?" "I come from my father. You must come with me at once." "But comrade Rampal borrowed my horse just now to go to Saintes. They went off one upon the other." "Take mine, then," said Livette. "And what will you do, young lady?" She was ashamed of her thoughtlessness, and blushed scarlet. "I?" said she, and the words of the ballad rang in her heart: "Prends tes amours en croupe, En avant!" "Unless," said he, laughing in his turn, "you care to take me _en croupe_?"