For some time, every Sunday had brought to him the same fear of being
deprived of dancing with her in the evening. In the week he hardly ever
saw her. Now that he was becoming a man, the only occasion for him to
have her company was this ball on the green of the square, in the light
of the stars or of the moon.

They had fallen in love with each other five years ago, Ramuntcho and
Gracieuse, when they were still children. And such loves, when by chance
the awakening of the senses confirms instead of destroying them, become
in young heads something sovereign and exclusive.

They had never thought of saying this to each other, they knew it so
well; never had they talked together of the future which did not appear
possible to one without the other. And the isolation of this mountain
village where they lived, perhaps also the hostility of Dolores to their
naive, unexpressed projects, brought them more closely together--

"To-night, at eight o'clock, say if you will be on the square to dance
with me?"

"Yes--" replies the little girl, fixing on her friend eyes of sadness, a
little frightened, as well as of ardent tenderness.

"Sure?" asked Ramuntcho again, whom these eyes make anxious.

"Yes, sure!"

So, he is quieted again this time, knowing that if Gracieuse has said and
decided something one may count on it. And at once the weather seems to
him more beautiful, the Sunday more amusing, life more charming--