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Miette was enveloped in a long brown hooded cloak reaching to her feet, and leaving only her head and hands visible. The women of the lower classes in Provence the peasantry and workpeople still wear these ample cloaks, which are called pelisses; it is a fashion which must have lasted for ages. Miette had thrown back her hood on arriving.
Silvere looked in front of him. He had reached the end of the path. His eyes fell on the tombstone, and he started. Miette was right, that stone was for her. "Here lieth . . . Marie . . . died . . . " She was dead, that slab had fallen over her. His strength failing him, he leant against the frozen stone. How warm it had been when they sat in that nook, chatting for many a long evening!
The thrill of patriotism, which transported Miette and Silvere, big children that they were, eager for love and liberty, sped, with generous fervour, athwart the sordid intrigues of the Macquarts and the Rougons. At intervals the trumpet-voice of the people rose and drowned the prattle of the yellow drawing-room and the hateful discourses of uncle Antoine.
Miette, with a woman's lack of scruple, did not hesitate to pluck a bunch of grapes, or a cluster of green almonds, from the vines and almond-trees whose boughs brushed her as she passed; and at this Silvere, with his absolute ideas of honesty, felt vexed, although he did not venture to find fault with the girl, whose occasional sulking distressed him.
Then rapture came to them again, and they smiled in each other's eyes, alone amidst all the silent radiance. Suddenly, however, Silvere raised his head and, throwing off the cloak, listened attentively. Miette, in her surprise, imitated him, at a loss to understand why he had started so abruptly from her side.
Silvere made no reply, but, half-stifling, and fearing lest he should give way to tears like herself, he kissed her in brotherly fashion on the cheek, at a loss for any other consolation. Then disengaging themselves they again lapsed into silence. After a moment Miette shuddered. Now that she no longer leant against Silvere's shoulder she was becoming icy cold.
In the Champagne, especially at Le Casque and Le Teton, there was active artillery fighting throughout the day. In the region between the Miette and the Aisne the Germans attacked three French posts, but were driven off by the French artillery fire.
After a savage pause she resumed: "As for you, you're a man; you're going to fight; you're very lucky." Silvere had let her speak on. After a few steps he observed sorrowfully: "You are wrong, Miette; yours is bad anger. You shouldn't rebel against justice. As for me, I'm going to fight in defence of our common rights, not to gratify any personal animosity."
With the exception of my Uncle Antoine, who is an artisan like myself, and who taught me to love the Republic, all my other relations seem to fear that I might besmirch them by coming near them." He was now speaking with animation, and suddenly stopped, detaining Miette in the middle of the road. "God is my witness," he continued, "that I do not envy or hate anybody.
However, though Justin suspected some secret happiness, it was long before he was able to discover how his victim had escaped him. Silvere, on his side, enjoyed profound happiness. His daily meetings with Miette made his idle hours pass pleasantly away.
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