They had arrived at the point of the river’s bank facing Surville. The two bridges drew nearer. They passed a rope-works, then a range of low-built houses, inside which there were pots of tar and wood chips; and children ran along the sand turning cartwheels. Frédéric recognised a man with a sleeved waistcoat, and called out to him:

“Hurry!”

They were at the landing-place. He looked around anxiously for Arnoux amongst the crowd of passengers, and the other came and shook hands with him, saying:

“A pleasant time, dear Monsieur!”

When he was on the quay, Frédéric turned around. She was standing beside the helm. He cast a look towards her into which he tried to put his whole soul. She remained motionless, as if he had done nothing. Then, without paying the slightest attentions to his man-servant’s greeting:

“Why didn’t you bring the trap down here?”

The man apologized.

“What a fool you are! Give me some money.”

And after that he went off to get something to eat at an inn.

A quarter of an hour later, he felt an inclination to turn into the coachyard, as if by chance. Perhaps he would see her again.

“What’s the use of it?” said he to himself

The vehicle carried him off. The two horses did not belong to his mother. She had borrowed one of M. Chambrion, the tax-collector, in order to have it yoked alongside of her own. Isidore, having set forth the day before, had taken a rest at Bray until evening, and had slept at Montereau, so that the animals, with restored vigour, were trotting briskly.

Fields on which the crops had been cut stretched out endlessly and gradually Villeneuve, St. Georges, Ablon, Chatillon, Corbeil, and the other places—his entire journey—came back to him with such vividness that he could now call to mind fresh details, more intimate particulars.... Under the lowest flounce of her gown, her foot peeked out encased in a dainty brown silk boot. The awning made of ticking formed a wide canopy over her head, and the little red tassels of the edging perpetually trembled in the breeze.

She resembled the women of whom he had read in romances. He would have wanted to add nothing to the charms of her appearance, nor take anything away. His universe had suddenly expanded. She was the luminous point towards which all things converged; and, rocked by the movement of the vehicle, with half-closed eyelids, and his face turned towards the clouds, he abandoned himself to a dreamy, infinite joy.

At Bray, he did not wait till the horses had gotten their oats; he walked on along the road by himself. Arnoux had, when he spoke to her, addressed her as “Marie.” He now loudly repeated the name “Marie!” His voice pierced the air and was lost in the distance.

The western sky was one great mass of flaming purple. Huge stacks of wheat, rising up in the midst of the stubble fields, projected giant shadows. A dog began to bark on a farm in the distance. He shivered, with a sense of uneasiness for which he could find no cause.

When Isidore returned, he jumped up into the front seat to drive. His moment of weakness had passed. He had firmly made up his mind to gain an introduction into the Arnoux’s home, however he could, and to befriend them. Their house should be amusing; besides, he liked Arnoux; then, who could tell? At that moment a wave of blood rushed up to his face; his temples throbbed; he cracked his whip, shook the reins, and set the horses going at such a pace that the old coachman repeatedly exclaimed:

“Easy! easy now, or they’ll get winded!”

Gradually Frédéric calmed down, and he listened to what the man was saying. Monsieur’s return was impatiently awaited. Mademoiselle Louise had cried in her insistence to go in the trap to meet him.

“Who, pray, is Mademoiselle Louise?”

“Monsieur Roque’s little girl, you know.”

“Ah! I had forgotten,” replied Frédéric, casually.

Meanwhile, the two horses could keep up the pace no longer. They were both limping; and nine o‘clock struck on the bell of St.