In the gardens the dazzling white and pale pink flower domes of the fruit-trees are arched against the blue sky. Slim green shoots are peeping forth from the black mould, and the fields and the meadows are glistening with soft silky grass, amongst which white and yellow flowers sip the rays of the sun. At the gate stands a slender young girl in a blouse shining like silk, over which the fruit-trees sprinkle their blossoms. She bows and smiles to me, she calls me, waving her hand.
I am sure it is Sunday, for the air seems filled with the song of church bells. Or is it nature awakened and uplifting a morning hymn to Heaven?
I cover my eyes with my hand. I can no longer bear to look over that wonderful spring landscape, which I am going to leave behind.
When again I gaze over the country it is wrapped in a grey mist. The shivering fruit-trees bend their flower arches to the ground and a black shadow steals the brightness from the meadow.
My eyes wander to the young girl in the flowered blouse. She stands with drooping arms; she does not feel the rain which is falling, nor the wind which sweeps through her thin dress. She looks at me with big eyes. She is crying.
Yet my heart was hardened. Marie's tears did not stop me. I had reached the boundary and I went.
