"It's a waste of time," said Rose; "let's go up the tower in the Liais gardens."
Side by side, they walked through the dismal streets. Rose kept on looking at M. Hervart; she was disquieted by his silence. She took his arm.
"I didn't dare offer it to you," he said.
"I do enjoy walking with you like this, Rose."
But as a matter of fact he was most embarrassed. This privilege was at once too innocent and too free. He wondered what he should do to keep it within its present bounds.
"If this is going on.... And to think it only started this morning...."
He reassured himself by this most logical piece of reasoning:
"Either I do or I don't want to marry her; in either case I shall have to respect her.... That's evident. Being neither a fool nor a blackguard, I have nothing to fear from myself. The civilised instinct; I'm very civilised...."
They were lightly clad. As he held her arm, he could feel its warmth burning into his flesh.
"Distressing fact! in love you can never be sure of anything or anybody, least of all of yourself. I'm helpless in the hands of desire. And then, at the same time as my own, I must calm down this child's over-exited nerves. Nerves? No, feelings. Feelings lead anywhere.... What a fool I am, making mental sermons like this! I'm spoiling delicious moments."
A house like all the others, a carriage door, a vaulted passage--and behold, you were in a great garden, where the brilliance and scent of exotic flowers burst from among the palm-trees, more intoxicating to their senses than the familiar scents and colours of the copse at Robinvast. Within the high walls of this strange oasis, the air hung motionless, heavy and feverish. The flowers breathed forth an almost carnal odour.
"What a place to make love in," thought M. Hervart.
He forgot all about Rose; his imagination called up the thought of Gratienne and her voluptuousness. He shut out the sun, lit up the place with dim far away lamps, spread scarlet cushions on the grass where a magnolia had let fall one of its fabulous flowers, and on them fancied his mistress.... He knelt beside her, bent over her beauty, covering it with kisses and adoration.
"This garden's making me mad," said M. Hervart aloud. The dream was scattered.