224 THE CHANGE 



hue, and somewhere in the wind pealed 

 the ghostly chimes of their fragrance. The 

 meadow was glorious with buttercups, and 

 the light reflected upwards from so thick a 

 cluster of golden rivets driven into the 

 grasses glowed on her face as she walked 

 slowly across the field. She wore a print 

 dress, and her brown hair was thick and 

 loosely coiled. But it was her eyes that 

 made her face so sweet they were gentle 

 like those of a hare. I just stood and looked 

 at her. Then she was gone, and I hid 

 behind a hedge, but she did not look back. 

 Her father was an artist living in a cottage 

 by the farm, and she was his only daughter. 

 When we knew each other, I used to talk 

 a lot with him, and she would listen 

 with earnest eyes upon me, as I could see 

 without actually looking at her. When I 

 did glance at her, she would look on the 

 ground, and then we smiled, and in her 

 cheeks I saw the bramble blossom steal and 

 die. Her father sang the song of Julien 



