“When the fields of Argelouse came into sight at the turn of the road: ‘Already!’ I cried. Smoke from burning grass drifted over the surface of the desolate soil now barren of its rye; through a gap in the embankment poured a herd of cattle looking like a stream of dirty milk, and they wandered off over the sandy heath. Jean had to cross the fields, to reach Vilméja, and I said: ‘I’ll come with you: I’ve been so thrilled by all this.’ But we found no more to say to each other. The rye stubble hurt me through my country sandals. I had the feeling that he wanted to be alone, no doubt to follow up at leisure some thought that had come to him. I pointed out that we had not talked about Anne; he assured me that we were not free to choose the subjects of our conversations, nor even of our meditations: ‘or else,’ he said loftily, ‘one would have to submit to the methods invented by the mystics.... Creatures like ourselves always are borne upon the stream, and walk down inevitable slopes....’ He related everything, in fact, to what he was reading at the moment. We agreed to meet again to arrange some method of dealing with the question of Anne. He talked absent-mindedly, and when I asked him a question, did not answer: suddenly he bent down, and with a boyish gesture picked a mushroom, showed it me, and then put it to his nose and lips.” CHAPTER VII Bernard was on the door-step waiting for Thérèse to return: “There’s nothing wrong with me at all,” he shouted, as soon as he saw her dress in the darkness: “Can you imagine that a man of my physique could be anæmic? It’s incredible, but I am: you can’t rely on appearances: I’m to follow a treatment ... the Fowler treatment: It’s arsenic ... the main thing is to get back my appetite.” * * * * * Thérèse remembered that she had felt no irritation at first: everything connected with Bernard seemed to make less impression on her than usual (as if the blow had been dealt her from further off). She did not hear him: for her body and her soul were turned towards another world full of eager creatures who wanted to know and to understand,--and, in a phrase which Jean had repeated with an air of deep satisfaction, “to become what they really were.” And when at dinner, she at last mentioned her meeting, Bernard cried, “Why, you hadn’t said anything about it: what an odd girl you are! Well, and what did you decide?” She devised on the spot the plan which was, in fact, adopted. Jean Azévédo agreed to write a letter to Anne in which he would contrive as gently as possible to make it clear that all was over. Bernard had jeered when Thérèse had maintained that the young man did not want the marriage in the least: an Azévédo not want to marry Anne de la Trave! “Why, you must be mad! He knows very well there’s nothing doing: people like that don’t take a risk when they know they must lose. You’re still very simple-minded, my child.”