1

It was yesterday. When I woke, the cornfield under my windows, which seemed a steadfast¹ sea of gold, had already half disappeared. The scythes² flashed in the sun; and the ripe corn fell in great unresisting masses.

The smallest details of that meeting are present in my memory; and I do not weary of living every moment of it over again. The air was cool. I still feel the caress³ of my sleeves, which the wind set fluttering over my arms. I drank the breeze in great gulps⁴. It filled me, it revived me from head to foot. My skirts hampered⁵ me and I went slowly, holding my hat in both hands before my face and vaguely⁶ guided by the little patches of landscape that showed through the loose straw: a glimpse of blue sky, of swaying tree-tops, smoking chimneys and a dim horizon.

I have come to the far end of the field, where the reapers⁷ are. It is the hour of the first meal. The
men have laid down their scythes, the girls have ceased to bind⁸ the sheaves and all are sitting on the slope beside the road.

Curious, I go closer still. A young woman, whom the others call "mademoiselle," is kneeling a few steps away from me, in front of the provision-basket; she has her back turned to me and is distributing slices of bread and cream-cheese to the labourers; she hands the jug⁹ filled with cider to the one nearest her, who drinks and sends it round. For one second the movement of her arm passes between the sky and my gaze, which wavers a little owing to the brilliancy of the light; and that arm dewy with heat appears to me admirably moulded, with bold, pure lines.

She is dressed like her companions, in a coarse

分享到：