A song of glory seemed to sound, glory to the source of life,
glory to the true mother, to the one who nourishes, her travail o'er. For
there is none other; the rest are imperfect and cowardly, responsible for
incalculable disasters. And on seeing her thus, in that glory, amid her
vigorous children, like the good goddess of Fruitfulness, Mathieu felt
that he adored her. Divine passion swept by--the glow which makes the
fields palpitate, which rolls on through the waters, and floats in the
wind, begetting millions and millions of existences. And 'twas delightful
the ecstasy into which they both sank, forgetfulness of all else, of all
those others who were there. They saw them no longer; they felt but one
desire, to say that they loved each other, and that the season had come
when love blossoms afresh. His lips protruded, she offered hers, and then
they kissed.
"Oh! don't disturb yourselves!" cried Beauchene merrily. "Why, what is
the matter with you?"
"Would you like us to move away?" added Seguin.
But while Valentine laughed wildly, and Constance put on a prudish air,
Morange, in whose voice tears were again rising, spoke these words,
fraught with supreme regret: "Ah! you are right!"
Astonished at what they had done, without intention of doing it, Mathieu
and Marianne remained for a moment speechless, looking at one another in
consternation.
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