summer about midday
You are very brave -- you are ; but I am a coward . I prefer spring to the winter , when the leaves are green , when the pretty wild flowers bloom , and they smell so sweet , so sweet that the air is quite scented ; and then your children would roll about so merrily in the fresh grass ; and then the forest would be so thick that you could hardly see your house in the midst of the foliage , -- I can fancy that I see it now . In front of the house is a vine full of leaves , which your husband has planted , and which shades the bank of turf where he sleeps during the noonday heat , whilst you are going backwards and forwards desiring the children not to wake their father . I do n't know whether you have remarked it , but in the heat of summer about midday there is in the woods as deep silence as at midnight , you do n't hear the leaves shake , nor the birds sing . '' `` Yes , that 's true , '' replied La Louve , almost mechanically , who became more and more forgetful of the reality , and almost believed she saw before her the smiling pictures which the poetical imagination of Fleur-de-Marie , so instinctively amorous of the beauties of nature , presented before her . Delighted at the deep attention which her companion lent her , La Goualeuse continued , allowing herself to be drawn on by the charm of the thoughts which she called up : `` There is one thing which I love almost as well as the silence of the woods , and that is the noise of the heavy drops of rain falling on the leaves ; do you like that , too ? '' `` Oh , yes !