Devant les deux larges fen\u00eatres, des rideaux de calicot,
soigneusement tir\u00e9s, \u00e9clairaient la chambre de la
blancheur tamis\u00e9e du petit jour. Elle \u00e9tait haute de
plafond, tr\u00e8s vaste, meubl\u00e9e d'un ancien meuble Louis
XV, \u00e0 bois peint en blanc, \u00e0 fleurs rouges sur un semis de
feuillage. Dans le trumeau, au-dessus des portes, aux deux
c\u00f4t\u00e9s de l'alc\u00f4ve, des peintures laissaient encore voir les
ventres et les derri\u00e8res roses de petits Amours volant par
bandes, jouant \u00e0 deux jeux qu'on ne distinguait plus,
tandis que les boiseries des murs, m\u00e9nageant des
panneaux ovales, les portes \u00e0 double battant, le plafond
arrondi, jadis \u00e0 fond bleu de ciel, avec des encadrements
de cartouches, de m\u00e9daillons, de noeuds de rubans coleur
chair, s'effa\u00e7aient, d'un gris tr\u00e8s doux, un gris qui gardait
l'attendrissement de ce paradis fan\u00e9. En face des fen\u00eatres,
la grande alc\u00f4ve, s'ouvrant sous des enroulements de
nuages, que des Amours de pl\u00e2tre \u00e9cartaient, pench\u00e9s,
culbut\u00e9s, comme pour regarder effront\u00e9ment le lit, \u00e9tait
ferm\u00e9e, ainsi que les fen\u00eatres, par des rideaux de calicot,
cousus \u00e0 gros points, d'une innocence singuli\u00e8re au milieu
de cette pi\u00e8ce rest\u00e9e toute ti\u00e8de d'une lointaine odeur de
volupt\u00e9.

Assise pr\u00e8s d'une console o\u00f9 une bouilloire chauffait
sur une lampe \u00e0 esprit-de-vin, Albine regardait les rideaux
de l'alc\u00f4ve, attentivement. Elle \u00e9tait v\u00eatue de blanc, les
cheveux serr\u00e9s dans un fichu de vieille dentelle, les mains
abandonn\u00e9es, veillant d'un air s\u00e9rieux de grande fille. Une
respiration faible, un souffle d'enfant assoupi s'entendait,
dans le grand silence. Mais elle s'inqui\u00e9ta, au bout de
quelques minutes; elle ne put s'emp\u00eacher de venir, \u00e0 pas
l\u00e9gers, soulever le coin d'un rideau. Serge, au bord du
grand lit, semblait dormir, la t\u00eate appuy\u00e9e sur l'un de ses
bras repli\u00e9. Pendant sa maladie, ses cheveux s'\u00e9taient
allong\u00e9s, sa barbe avait pouss\u00e9. Il \u00e9tait tr\u00e8s blanc, les yeux
meurtris de bleu, les l\u00e8vres p\u00e2les; il avait une gr\u00e2ce de fille
convalescente.

Et il restait la t\u00eate appuy\u00e9e, sans bouger un doigt,
comme accabl\u00e9 d'une lassitude heureuse. Ses yeux
s'\u00e9taient lentement ouverts; sa bouche soufflait
l\u00e9g\u00e8rement sur l'une de ses mains nues, soulevant le duvet
de sa peau blonde.

Through calico curtains, carefully drawn across the two
large windows, a pale white light like that of breaking day
filtered into the room. It was a lofty and spacious room,
fitted up with old Louis XV. furniture, the woodwork
painted white, the upholstery showing a pattern of red
flowers on a leafy ground. On the piers above the doors on
either side of the alcove were faded paintings still
displaying the rosy flesh of flying Cupids, whose games it
was now impossible to follow. The wainscoting with oval
panels, the folding doors, the rounded ceiling (once sky-
blue and framed with scrolls, medallions, and bows of
flesh-coloured ribbons), had all faded to the softest grey.
Opposite the windows the large alcove opened beneath
banks of clouds which plaster Cupids drew aside, leaning
over, and peeping saucily towards the bed. And like the
windows, the alcove was curtained with coarsely hemmed
calico, whose simplicity seemed strange in this room
where lingered a perfume of whilom luxury and
voluptuousness.

Seated near a pier table, on which a little kettle
bubbled over a spirit-lamp, Albine intently watched the
alcove curtains. She was gowned in white, her hair
gathered up in an old lace kerchief, her hands drooping
wearily, as she kept watch with the serious mien of
youthful womanhood. A faint breathing, like that of a
slumbering child, could be heard in the deep silence. But
she grew restless after a few minutes, and could not
restrain herself from stepping lightly towards the alcove
and raising one of the curtains. On the edge of the big bed
lay Serge, apparently asleep, with his head resting on his
bent arm. During his illness his hair had lengthened, and
his beard had grown. He looked very white, with sunken
eyes and pallid lips.

He lay perfectly still with his head on his arm, without
stirring even a finger, as if overwhelmed by delightful
weariness. His eyes had slowly opened, and his breath
blew lightly on one of his hands, raising the golden down
on his fair skin.

Elle fut ravie de ce tutoiement. Elle s'approcha, s'accroupi devant le lit, pour mettre son visage \u00e0 la hauteur du sien.

- Oh! tu es gu\u00e9ri, maintenant, reprit-elle. Sais-tu que je
pleurais, tout le long du chemin, lorsque je revenais de l\u00e0-
bas avec de mauvaises nouvelles. On me disait que tu
avais le d\u00e9lire, que cette mauvaise fi\u00e8vre, si elle te faisait
gr\u00e2ce, t'emporterais la raison... Comme j'ai embrass\u00e9 ton
oncle Pascal, lorsqu'il t'a amen\u00e9 ici, pour ta
convalescence!

- Vois-tu, ces roches br\u00fbl\u00e9es, l\u00e0-bas, ne te valaient rien.
Il te faut des arbres, de la fra\u00eecheur, de la tranquillit\u00e9... Le
docteur n'a pas m\u00eame racont\u00e9 qu'il te cachait ici. C'est un
secret entre lui et ceux qui t'aiment. Il te croyait perdu...
Va, personne ne nous d\u00e9rangera. L'oncle Jeanbernat fume
sa pipe devant ses salades. Les autres feront prendre de
tes nouvelles en cachette. Et le docteur lui-m\u00eame ne
reviendra plus, parce que, \u00e0 cette heure, c'est moi qui suis
ton m\u00e9decin... Il parait que tu n'as plus besoin de drogues.
Tu as besoin d'\u00eatre aim\u00e9, comprends-tu?

Il semblait ne pas entendre, le cr\u00e2ne encore vide.
Comme ses yeux, sans qu'il remu\u00e2t la t\u00eate, fouillaient les
coins de la chambre, elle pensa qu'il s'inqui\u00e9tait du lieu o\u00f9
il se trouvait.

- C'est ma chambre, dit-elle. Je te l'ai donn\u00e9e. Elle est
jolie, n'est-ce pas? J'ai pris les plus beaux meubles du
grenier; puis, j'ai fait ces rideaux de calicot, pour que le
jour ne m'aveugl\u00e2t pas... Et tu ne me g\u00eanes nullement. Je
coucherai au second \u00e9tage. Il y a encore trois ou quatre
pi\u00e8ces vides.

Mais il restait inquiet.
- Tu es seule? demanda-t-il.
- Oui. Pourquoi me fais-tu cette question?
Il ne r\u00e9pondit pas, il murmura d'un air d'ennui:
- J'ai r\u00eav\u00e9, je r\u00eave toujours... J'entends des cloches, et

* From this point in the original Serge and Albine thee and thou
one another; but although this _tutoiement_ has some bearing on the
development of the story, it was impossible to preserve it in an English
translation.--ED.

His voice enchanted her. She went up to his bed and
crouched beside it to bring her face on a level with his
own.

'Oh! you are well now. Do you know, I used to cry the
whole way home when I came back from over yonder with
bad news of you. They told me you were delirious, and
that if your dreadful fever did spare your life, it would
destroy your reason. Oh, didn't I kiss your uncle Pascal
when he brought you here to recruit your health!'

'Those burnt-up rocks over yonder, you see, were no
good to you. You need trees, and coolness, and quiet. The
doctor hasn't even told a soul that he was hiding you away
here. That's a secret between himself and those who love
you. He thought you were lost. Nobody will ever disturb
you, you may be sure of that! Uncle Jeanbernat is
smoking his pipe by his lettuce bed. The others will get
news of you on the sly. Even the doctor isn't coming back
any more. I am to be your doctor now. You don't want any
more physic, it seems. What you now want is to be loved;
do you see?'

He did not seem to hear her, his brain as yet was void.
His eyes, although his head remained motionless,
wandered inquiringly round the room, and it struck her
that he was wondering where he might be.

'This is my room,' she said. 'I have given it to you. Isn't
it a pretty one? I took the finest pieces of furniture out of
the lumber attic, and then I made those calico curtains to
prevent the daylight from dazzling me. And you're not
putting me out a bit. I shall sleep on the second floor.
There are three or four empty rooms there.'

Still he looked anxious.
'You're alone?' he asked.
'Yes; why do you ask that?'
He made no answer, but muttered wearily:
'I have been dreaming, I am always dreaming. I hear

Il fit signe qu'il n'avait pas soif. Il regardait les mains
d'Albine d'un air si surpris, si charm\u00e9 de les voir, qu'elle
en avan\u00e7a une, au bord de l'oreiller, en souriant. Alors, il
laissa glisser sa t\u00eate, il appuya une joue sur cette petite
main fra\u00eeche. Il eut un l\u00e9ger rire, il dit:

- Ah! c'est doux comme de la soie. On dirait qu'elle
souffle de l'air dans mes cheveux... Ne la retire pas, je t'en
prie.

Puis, il y eut un long silence. Il se regardaient avec une
grande amiti\u00e9. Albine se voyait paisiblement dans les yeux
vides du convalescent. Serge semblait \u00e9couter quelque
chose de vague que la petite main fra\u00eeche lui confiait.

- Elle est tr\u00e8s bonne, ta main, reprit-il. Tu ne peux pas
t'imaginer comme elle me fait du bien... Elle a l'air
d'entrer au fond de moi, pour m'enlever les douleurs que
j'ai dans les membres. C'est une caresse partout, un
soulagement, une gu\u00e9rison.

- Dis? tu ne me donneras rien de mauvais \u00e0 boire, tu ne me tourmenteras pas avec toutes sortes de rem\u00e8des?... Ta main me suffit, vois-tu. Je suis venu pour que tu la mettes l\u00e0, sous ma t\u00eate.

- Souffert? oui, oui; mais il y a longtemps... J'ai mal
dormi, j'ai eu des r\u00eaves \u00e9pouvantables. Si je pouvais, je te
raconterais tout cela.

- Je ne vois que du noir, balbutia-t-il. C'est singulier,
j'arrive d'un long voyage. Je ne sais plus m\u00eame d'o\u00f9 je suis
parti. J'avais la fi\u00e8vre, une fi\u00e8vre qui galopait dans mes
veines comme une b\u00eate... C'est cela, je me souviens.
Toujours le m\u00eame cauchemar me faisait ramper, le long
d'un souterrain interminable. A certaines grosses

When she came back, bringing a chair with her, and sat
down by his pillow, he looked as gleeful as a child, and
kept on saying:

He made a sign that he was not thirsty. He looked at
Albine's hands as if so astonished, so delighted to see
them, that with a smile she laid one on the edge of his
pillow. Then he let his head glide down, and rested his
cheek against that small, cool hand, saying, with a light
laugh:

Then came another long spell of silence. They gazed on
one another with loving kindliness--Albine calmly
scanning herself in the convalescent's eyes, Serge
apparently listening to some faint whisper from the small,
cool hand.

'Your hand is so nice,' he said once more. 'You can't fancy what good it does me. It seems to steal inside me, and take away all the pain in my limbs. It's as if I were being soothed all over, relieved, cured.'

'You won't give me anything nasty to drink, will you?
You won't worry me with all sorts of physic? Your hand is
quite enough for me. I have come here for you to put it
there under my head.'

'Suffered! yes, yes; but it's a long time ago. I slept
badly, I had such frightful dreams. If I could, I would tell
you all about it.'

'I can see nothing but darkness,' he stammered. 'It is
very odd, I have just come back from a long journey. I
don't even know now where I started from. I had fever, I
know, a fever that raced through my veins like a wild
beast. That was it--now I remember. The whole time I had
a nightmare, in which I seemed to be crawling along an