Every summer she spent with her father on their estate in the country.
She was no great lover of the country. Nature made her feel small; she
found the woods uncanny, the lake made her shudder, there was danger
hidden in the tall meadow-grass. She regarded the peasants as cunning
and rather filthy beasts. They had so many children, and she had no
doubt that both boys and girls were full of vice. Nevertheless they
were always invited to the manor house on Midsummer day and on the
general's birthday, to play the part of the chorus of grand opera,
that is to say, to cheer and dance, and look like the figures in a
painting.
It was springtime. Helena, on her thoroughbred mare, had penetrated
into the depths of the country. She felt tired and dismounted; she
fastened her mare to a birchtree which grew near an enclosure. Then
she strolled along by the side of a ditch and began to gather wild
orchids. The air was soft and balmy, steam was rising from the ground.
She could hear the frogs jumping into the ditch which was half-full of
water.
All at once the mare neighed and, stretching her slender neck over the
fence, drew in the air with wide-open nostrils.
"Alice!" she called out, "be quiet, old girl!"
And she continued to gather the modest flowers which so cleverly hide
their secrets behind the prettiest and neatest curtains that for all
the world look like printed calico.
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