He got to his feet and crushed a leaf softly between his fingers. “You see, the little grapes are already forming.... Look up there,” she said as she brushed the leaves aside just above his head. “These grapes here are the earliest; but I must show you my domain, and my cousins and the hen yard and everything.” She took his hand and pulled him out of the arbor. They ran like children, hand in hand, round the box-bordered paths. “What I mean is this,” he stammered, following her across the lawn. “If I could once manage to express all that misery in music, I could shove it far down into my memory. I should be free to live my own existence, in the midst of this carnival of summer.” At the house she turned to him; “You see the very battered ladies over the door,” she said. “They are said to be by a pupil of Jean Goujon.” “They fit wonderfully in the landscape, don't they? Did I ever tell you about the sculptures in the hospital where I was when I was wounded?” “No, but I want you to look at the house now. See, that's the tower; all that's left of the old building. I live there, and right under the roof there's a haunted room I used to be terribly afraid of. I'm still afraid of it.... You see this Henri Quatre part of the house was just a fourth of the house as planned. This lawn would have been the court. We dug up foundations where the roses are. There are all sorts of traditions as to why the house was never finished.” “You must tell me them.” “I shall later; but now you must come and meet my aunt and my cousins.” “Please, not just now, Genevieve.... I don't feel like talking to anyone except you. I have so much to talk to you about.” “But it's nearly lunch time, Jean. We can have all that after lunch.” “No, I can't talk to anyone else now. I must go and clean myself up a little anyway.” “Just as you like.... But you must come this afternoon and play to us. Two or three people are coming to tea.... It would be very sweet of you, if you'd play to us, Jean.” “But can't you understand? I can't see you with other people now.” “Just as you like,” said Genevieve, flushing, her hand on the iron latch of the door. “Can't I come to see you tomorrow morning? Then I shall feel more like meeting people, after talking to you a long while. You see, I....” He paused, with his eyes on the ground. Then he burst out in a low, passionate voice: “Oh, if I could only get it out of my mind... those tramping feet, those voices shouting orders.” His hand trembled when he put it in Genevieve's hand. She looked in his eyes calmly with her wide brown eyes. “How strange you are today, Jean! Anyway, come back early tomorrow.” She went in the door. He walked round the house, through the carriage gate, and went off with long strides down the road along the river that led under linden trees to the village.