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Updated: June 16, 2025
"I don't know," replied Silvere, "his face was all covered with blood. Come quickly." Then he hurried the girl away. On reaching the market, he made her sit down on a stone bench, and told her to wait there for him. He was still looking at his hands, muttering something at the same time.
One might imagine they were guests invited to some mysterious ball given by the stars to lowly lovers. When the weather is very warm and the girls do not wear cloaks, they simply turn up their over-skirts. And in the winter the more passionate lovers make light of the frosts. Thus, Miette and Silvere, as they descended the Nice road, thought little of the chill December night.
As she felt them course through her veins, she interrogated them, asking if they were all love, all passion. But languor at last overcame her, and she fell into gentle slumber. Silvere had enveloped her in her pelisse, drawing the skirt around himself at the same time. They no longer felt cold.
We would not leave without having some money given us." Silvere, however, grew serious, and frankly replied: "If those wretches robbed us, so much the worse for them. I don't want their money. You see, uncle, it's not for us to fall on our relatives. If they've done wrong, well, one of these days they'll be severely punished for it." "Ah! what a big simpleton you are!" the uncle cried.
Silvere, on recognising that vile scamp's head all by itself above the wall that pale grinning face, with hair standing on end experienced a feeling of fierce rage, a sudden desire to live. It was the last revolt of his blood a momentary mutiny. He again sank down on his knees, gazing straight before him. A last vision passed before his eyes in the melancholy twilight.
At five or six feet from the brushwood, however, where Miette and Silvere were sheltered, the left-hand embankment gave place to a little pathway which ran alongside the Viorne; and the moonlight, flowing through this gap, cast a broad band of radiance across the road.
Tell me now, did you kiss me?" "It's very possible," Silvere replied laughing. "I was not very warm. It is bitterly cold." "I only feel cold in the feet," Miette rejoined. "Well! let us have a run," said Silvere. "We have still two good leagues to go. You will get warm." Thereupon they descended the hill and ran until they reached the high road.
"I most likely shall not be there. You will comfort the poor woman. That would be better." "Ah! as you said just now," the young girl murmured, "it would be better to die." At this longing for death they tightened their embrace. Miette relied upon dying with Silvere; he had only spoken of himself, but she felt that he would gladly take her with him into the earth.
He followed the beams, bending down and going to and fro, making the bravest shudder by his abrupt appearance. And, all of a sudden: "Ah! the bandit, I've got him!" he cried. He had just laid his hand on Silvere's shoulder. Silvere, crouching down on a beam, with lifeless and expressionless face, was looking straight before him into the pale twilight, with a calm, stupefied air.
How calm and soft it had been! how slowly had the pale rays passed over the beams! Supreme silence had fallen from the frozen sky. And amidst this silence, the woolly-haired gipsy girl had sung in a low key and an unknown tongue. Then Silvere remembered that the seemingly far-off Sunday was only a week old. But a week ago he had come to bid Miette farewell! How long past it seemed!
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