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. Yet she would not have
shuddered thus had she been in this deserted path the previous evening,
seated on this tombstone, where for several seasons they had tasted so
much happiness.

"I'm very cold," she said, as she pulled her hood over her head.

"Shall we walk about a little?" the young man asked her. "It's not yet
nine o'clock; we can take a stroll along the road."

Miette reflected that for a long time she would probably not have the
pleasure of another meeting--another of those evening chats, the joy of
which served to sustain her all day long.

"Yes, let us walk a little," she eagerly replied. "Let us go as far as
the mill. I could pass the whole night like this if you wanted to."

They rose from the tombstone, and were soon hidden in the shadow of a
pile of planks. Here Miette opened her cloak, which had a quilted
lining of red twill, and threw half of it over Silvere's shoulders,
thus enveloping him as he stood there close beside her. The same garment
cloaked them both, and they passed their arms round each other's waist,
and became as it were but one being. When they were thus shrouded in the
pelisse they walked slowly towards the high road, fearlessly crossing
the vacant parts of the wood-yard, which looked white in the moonlight.