Never had he seen anything so vividly young; the very spirit of youth and joyousness seemed to shine in her glance, to hover on her lips, to quiver about her body as summer air quivers with the heat. Her naked arms, her naked legs were neither tanned by the sun nor stained with forest-travel; on the strong fingers of her fine hands the nails were clear-pink as sea-shells; through the candor of her skin he could see the blue veins wander. She held a bough of myrtle in her right hand, and played with it as she gazed at the man on the grass, and a childlike mirth danced in her kind, wise eyes. Her sweet mouth smiled at his awakening senses, and then she spoke--and here was a marvel! He knew what she said as well as if she were his countrywoman, and yet--it was odd--and yet she did not seem to speak as folk spoke any French that he had ever heard from salt Normandy to the Spanish hills. "Good-evening, traveller," the girl said, and at the sound of her salutation Simon knew that he was not dreaming but wide awake, and he scrambled clumsily to his feet. "Saints and angels!" he ejaculated, crossing himself. The girl laughed, and her laughter was as pleasant as the tinkling of sheep-bells in a meadow. "Do not be fearful, friend," she said, in that same flowing, unfamiliar, appreciable speech; "I will do you no harm." Hearing this astonishing promise, Simon was quite himself again. That a lass should pledge her word not to hurt him was hugely amusing. "No, I should guess not, prettykin," he guffawed. "But what does a fair maid in this forest?" The girl's forehead wrinkled a little in displeasure as the bray of his laughter jarred the serenity of the cloistered trees. "I live in the forest," she answered. Simon stared anew at her white arms, her white legs, her unscorched face and unstained raiment. "I live here all alone, too, save for the birds and the beasts and the trees and the flowers. The foolish Athenians are so fearful of the forest that they never come near its kindly shelter. You are not an Athenian?" Simon shook his head stoutly. "No, I thank Heaven," he said; "I am a Frenchman from Rouen." He spoke with a proper pride. "I thought you could not be," the girl said, gravely, "when I saw you lying so at your ease on the grass and heard you snoring. No Athenian would do that." Simon reddened a little. Frenchman of Rouen though he was, he had this in common with lesser men: he resented the imputation of snoring. "Do no Athenians snore?" he questioned, grumpily. The girl laughed again. "Nay," she said, demurely, "I meant that no Athenian would lie here in the twilight. I have seen no one sleeping in these shades for ages, though I have lived in the forest all my life." "No great slice of time, I take it," Simon suggested, gallantly. His slow mind was much puzzled by the maid, but his quick flesh was enamoured and he was much the body-servant. The girl looked at him thoughtfully.