My mother invited them to be seated, but Louise declined, saying it was too late, and I accompanied them to gather the pears. Louise’s friend, Courrade by name, was from Saint-Rémy, a handsome girl, with thick brown hair encircled by her Arlesienne ribbon; charming as Louise was, she acted imprudently in bringing such a friend. Arrived in the orchard, while I lowered the branches, Courrade, raising her pretty round arms, bare to the elbow, set to work and picked the pears. Louise, looking very pale, encouraged her, and bade her choose the most ripe. My heart was already stirred, though by which of the girls I could not say, when Louise, as if she had something to communicate, drew me to one side, and we sauntered slowly towards the group of cypresses, where, side by side, we sat down on a stone bench, I somewhat embarrassed, she regarding me with emotion. “Frédéric,” she began, “the other day I spoke to you of a frock which at the age of eleven I lent you to wear in the play at St. Michel de Frigolet.... You have read the story of Déjanire and Hercules?” “Yes,” I answered laughing, “and also of the tunic which the beautiful Déjanire gave to poor Hercules, and which set his blood on fire.” “Ah!” said the young girl, “in this case it is just the reverse, for that little white muslin dress which you had touched--which you had worn--from the moment I put it on once more, I loved you. Do not be angry with me for this confession, which I know must appear strange, even mad, in your eyes. Ah, do not be angry,” she begged, weeping, “for this divine fire, conveyed to me by the fatal dress, and which from that time has never ceased to consume me, I have hidden deep within my heart, oh, Frédéric, for seven long years!” I took her little feverish hand in mine, and would have replied by folding her in my arms; but gently she pushed me from her: “No, Frédéric,” she said, “as yet we cannot say whether the poem of which I have sung the first stanza will ever go further.... I must now leave you. Think on what I have said, and remember that since I am one of those who cannot change, whatever your answer may be, my heart is given to you for ever.” So saying she rose, and running up to her friend Courrade, called to her to bring the pears that they might weigh and pay for them. We returned to the house, and having settled for the pears they left. My feelings were difficult to analyse. I found myself both charmed and disturbed by this sudden appearance of young maidens upon the scene, both of whom in a certain fashion appealed strongly to me. Long I strolled among the trees, watching the sun’s rays grow slanting and the doves fly home to roost, and in spite of a feeling of exhilaration, and even happiness, on sounding myself I perceived that I was in a rare fix.