The transports of their affection lulled them into a feeling of security, as on other days, when no prospect of parting had marred the tranquility of their meetings.
They still walked on, and soon reached the little crossroad mentioned by Miette--a bit of a lane which led through the fields to a village on the banks of the Viorne.

But they passed on, pretending not to notice this path, where they had agreed to stop.

And it was only some minutes afterwards that Silvere whispered, "It must be very late; you will get tired." "No; I assure you I'm not at all tired," the girl replied.

"I could walk several leagues like this easily." Then, in a coaxing tone, she added: "Let us go down as far as the meadows of Sainte-Claire.

There we will really stop and turn back." Silvere, whom the girl's rhythmic gait lulled to semi-somnolence, made no objection, and their rapture began afresh.