cannot pass but that Holy Church unite them. So says Mirèio; but Vincèn
adds that this is only true if the young escape before they are put into
a cage. "Jesu moun Diéu! take care," cries the young girl, "catch them
carefully, for this concerns us." So Vincèn gets the young birds, and
Mirèio puts them carefully into her bodice; but they dig and scratch,
and must be transferred to Vincèn's cap; and then the branch breaks, and
the two fall together in close embrace upon the soft grass. The poet
breaks into song:--

"Fresh breezes, that stir the canopy of the woods, let your merry murmur
soften into silence over the young couple! Wandering zephyrs, breathe
softly, give time to dream, give them time at least to dream of
happiness! Thou that ripplest o'er thy bed, go slowly, slowly, little
brook! Make not so much sound among the stones, make not so much sound,
for the two souls have gone off, in the same beam of fire, like a
swarming hive--let them hover in the starry air!"

But Mirèio quickly releases herself; the young man is full of anxiety
lest she be hurt, and curses the devilish tree "planted a Friday!" But
she, with a trembling she cannot control, tells of an inner torment
that takes away hearing and sight, and keeps her heart beating. Vincèn
wonders if it may not be fear of a scolding from her mother, or a
sunstroke. Then Mirèio, in a sudden outburst, like a Wagnerian heroine,
confesses her love to the astonished boy, who remains dazed, and
believes for a time that she is cruelly trifling with him. She reassures
him, passionately. "Do not speak so," cries the boy, "from me to you
there is a labyrinth; you are the queen of the Mas, all bow before you;
I, peasant of Valabrègue, am nothing, Mirèio, but a worker in the
fields!" "Ah, what is it to me whether my beloved be a baron or a
basket-weaver, provided he is pleasing to me. Why, O Vincèn, in your