walls overgrown with ivy and mosses separated its grove of trees from
the moorland and the rocky country round about it. For me, brought up in
the city, the old and solitary garden, where even the fruit trees were
dying from old age, had all the mystery and charm of a primeval
forest. I crossed a border of box, and I was in the midst of a large
uncultivated tract filled with climbing asparagus and great weeds. Then
I cowered down, as is the fashion of little children, that I might
be more effectually hidden by what hid me sufficiently already, and I
remained there motionless with eyes dilated and with quickening spirit,
half afraid, half enraptured. The feeling that I experienced in the
presence of these unfamiliar things was one of reflection rather than of
astonishment. I knew that the bright green vegetation closing in about
me was every where in no less measure than in the heart of this
forest, and emotions, sad and weird and vague took possession of me
and affrighted but fascinated me. That I might remain hidden as long as
possible I crouched lower and still lower, and I felt the joy a little
Indian boy feels when he is in his beloved forest.

Suddenly I heard someone call: "Pierre! Pierre! Dear Pierre!" I did not
reply, but instead lay as close as possible to the ground, and sought to
hide under the weeds and the waving branches of the asparagus.

Still I heard: "Pierre, Pierre." It was Lucette; I knew her voice, and
from the mockery of her tone I felt sure that she had spied me. But I
could not see her although I looked about me very carefully: no one was
visible!

With peals of laughter she continued to call, and her voice grew merrier
and merrier. Where can she be? thought I.