"And I shall come back and marry Babet?" I inquired.
My uncle smiled imperceptibly; and, without answering in a direct manner,
said:
"The remainder is the will of Heaven."
"You are heaven, and I have faith in your kindness. Oh! uncle, see that
Babet does not forget me. I will work for her."
Then my uncle Lazare again pointed out to me the valley which the warm
golden light was overspreading more and more.
"There is hope," he said to me. "Do not be as old as I am, Jean. Forget my
sermon, be as ignorant as this land. It does not trouble about the autumn;
it is all engrossed with the joy of its smile; it labours, courageously
and without a care. It hopes."
And we returned to the parsonage, strolling along slowly in the grass,
which was scorched by the sun, and chatting with concern of our
approaching separation.
Breakfast was cold, as I had foreseen; but that did not trouble me much. I
had tears in my eyes each time I looked at my uncle Lazare. And, at the
thought of Babet, my heart beat fit to choke me.
I do not remember what I did during the remainder of the day. I think I
went and lay down under the willows at the riverside. My uncle was right,
the earth was at work. On placing my ear to the grass I seemed to hear
continual sounds. Then I dreamed of what my life would be. Buried in the
grass until nightfall, I arranged an existence full of labour divided
between Babet and my uncle Lazare. The energetic youthfulness of the soil
had penetrated my breast, which I pressed with force against the common
mother, and at times I imagined myself to be one of the strong willows
that lived around me. In the evening I could not dine. My uncle, no doubt,
understood the thoughts that were choking me, for he feigned not to notice
my want of appetite. As soon as I was able to rise from table, I hastened
to return and breathe the open air outside.
A fresh breeze rose from the river, the dull splashing of which I heard in
the distance. A soft light fell from the sky. The valley expanded,
peaceful and transparent, like a dark shoreless ocean. There were vague
sounds in the air, a sort of impassioned tremor, like a great flapping of
wings passing above my head. Penetrating perfumes rose with the cool air
from the grass.
I had gone out to see Babet; I knew she came to the parsonage every night,
and I went and placed myself in ambush behind a hedge. I had got rid of my
timidness of the morning; I considered it quite natural to be waiting for
her there, because she loved me and I had to tell her of my departure.
"When I perceived her skirts in the limpid night, I advanced noiselessly.
Then I murmured in a low voice:
"Babet, Babet, I am here."
She did not recognise me, at first, and started with fright. When she
discovered who it was, she seemed still more frightened, which very much
surprised me.
"It's you, Monsieur Jean," she said to me. "What are you doing there? What
do you want?"