She had only had one great fault: she was inclined to pilfering.
But he would have cured her of that.

Then the thought of their first embraces brought him back to the narrow path.

They had always ended by returning to that nook.

He fancied he could hear the gipsy girl's song dying away, the creaking of the last shutters, the solemn striking of the clocks.

Then the hour of separation came, and Miette climbed the wall again and threw him a kiss.