But the girl of long ago did not remain in his memory. As he passed into the oakwood he stopped and looked again. The arch of the trees bordering the road narrowed and framed the landscape. He recognised in the hues and outlines of the plains and mountains that mixture of precision and of softness which gives the Savoyard country its unique character. A shepherd girl’s voice rose to him. She was singing some old love couplets: “Up there on the mountain There is a meadow; The partridge and the quail Go there to sing. I took my cross-bow, Thither I went; Thinking to kill four, I missed them all.” The few uncertain notes could not rob this strained voice of its clear tone, limpid as the waters of a stream. At the bend of the road some sheep appeared, then the shepherdess, standing out like shadows against the light trelliswork of branches. She was a girl of fifteen or sixteen, to whom health and strength gave a rustic beauty. “’Tis the heart of my love That I have wounded. Love, my sweet love, Have I hurt you?” She passed by Jean, who was listening smilingly to her song. “Good morning, Monsieur Jean,” said she with a bow. “Do you know me?” he asked in surprise. “Why, of course! I am the daughter of Trélaz, the farmer at Le Maupas.” “Jeannette?” “At your service.” “But you were about the size of a boot then! And now you are taller than ripe corn.” Nothing makes us so conscious of the flight of time as the growth of children whom we see but now and then. The flattered girl began to laugh, and although her teeth were badly cared for yet her joy was contagious. As she passed on, she repeated the last verse. “’Tis the heart of my love That I have wounded. Love, my sweet love, Have I hurt you?” And the wind carried the dying words to the young man, still standing motionless at the foot of the oak trees. “Just a little, scarcely that, But I shall die of it! A kiss from your lips Would heal me quite!” Jean’s eyes swept over the scene before him--the trees with their new leaves, the meadows with their waving grasses, the girl full of the wine of youth. He breathed in the scent of the earth and the morning woods. And in his native air he tasted the love of life.