The water flows between trees whose highest foliage is intermingled.

By a dark footpath, soft and damp, under the ogive of the branches, we follow this crystal-paved cloister of green shadow.

We come on a flat-bottomed boat, used by the anglers.

I make Marie enter it, and it yields and groans under her weight.

By the strokes of two old oars we descend the current.
It seems to our hearts and our inventing eyes that the banks take flight on either side--it is the scenery of bushes and trees which retreats.