slope and she herself started running towards him, as fast as she could.
She arrived all out of breath at the bottom of the garden, broke down the little wooden gate, which was slow in opening, and sprang into the road at the moment when Guillaume crossed the bridge:
"Gilberte!"
"Guillaume!"
They assured themselves with a glance that nothing was changed in either of them and then silently followed the road that skirts the Varenne. They dared not speak, overcome with the importance of the words which they were about to pronounce. Besides, excitement gripped them by the throat.
Thus they arrived at Notre-Dame-sur-l'Eau, the old Norman chapel which is so prettily situated on the river-bank.
Leaning on the balustrade above the water flowing through the arches of the bridge, they revelled in the delight of dream-
