Chapter 3

           Theywerethreefull,exquisitedaysatruehoneymoon.TheywereattheHotel-de-Boulogne,ontheharbour;andtheylivedthere,withdrawnblindsandcloseddoors,withflowersonthefloor,andicedsyrupswerebroughtthemearlyinthemorning.

           Towardseveningtheytookacoveredboatandwenttodineononeoftheislands.Itwasthetimewhenonehearsbythesideofthedockyardthecaulking-malletssoundingagainstthehullofvessels.Thesmokeofthetarroseupbetweenthetrees;therewerelargefattydropsonthewater,undulatinginthepurplecolourofthesun,likefloatingplaquesofFlorentinebronze.

           Theyroweddowninthemidstofmooredboats,whoselongobliquecablesgrazedlightlyagainstthebottomoftheboat.Thedinofthetowngraduallygrewdistant;therollingofcarriages,thetumultofvoices,theyelpingofdogsonthedecksofvessels.Shetookoffherbonnet,andtheylandedontheirisland.

           Theysatdowninthelow-ceilingedroomofatavern,atwhosedoorhungblacknets.Theyatefriedsmelts,creamandcherries.Theylaydownuponthegrass;theykissedbehindthepoplars;andtheywouldfain,liketwoRobinsons,havelivedforeverinthislittleplace,whichseemedtothemintheirbeatitudethemostmagnificentonearth.Itwasnotthefirsttimethattheyhadseentrees,abluesky,meadows;thattheyhadheardthewaterflowingandthewindblowingintheleaves;but,nodoubt,theyhadneveradmiredallthis,asifNaturehadnotexistedbefore,orhadonlybeguntobebeautifulsincethegratificationoftheirdesires.

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