"You are the most generous-hearted creature I have ever met."
Guillaume compared the moss at the foot of an oak to velvet; and Gilberte became aware that all the poetry in the world was summed up in her companion.
Having exhausted their original reflexions, their brilliant remarks and their mutual admiration, they were silent until they emerged from the wood. A lane of apple-trees led them past furze and rocks. At the foot of the slope ran the Varenne. After they had taken a turn, Gilberte cried:
"Look, that might be my garden, on the other side. ... Why, so it is! ... There's the Logis. ... Where are we?"
She walked on. They came to a cluster of small fir-trees. When they had passed them, they were just opposite the ruined summer-house, with only the width of the valley in between.
Gilberte gave a start. That spur of the hill, that circle of red rocks surrounding it,
