She alone was guilty; if she had not formerly had that door made Silvere would not now be at a girl's feet in that lonely nook, intoxicating himself with a bliss which prompts and angers the jealousy of death.
After a brief pause, she went up to the young man, and, without a word, took him by the hand.

She might, perhaps, have left them there, chattering under the wall, had she not felt that she herself was, to some extent, an accomplice in this fatal love.

As she came back with Silvere, she turned on hearing the light footfall of Miette, who, having quickly taken up her pitcher, was hastening across the stubble.

She was running wildly, glad at having escaped so easily.

And aunt Dide smiled involuntarily as she watched her bound over the ground like a runaway goat.
"She is very young," she murmured, "she has plenty of time." She meant, no doubt, that Miette had plenty of time before her to suffer and weep.