II
The peace and beauty of a spring day had descended upon the earth like a benediction. Along the leafy road which skirted a narrow, tortuous stream in central Louisiana, rumbled an old fashioned cabriolet, much the worse for hard and rough usage over country roads and lanes. The fat, black horses went in a slow, measured trot, notwithstanding constant urging on the part of the fat, black coachman. Within the vehicle were seated the fair Octavie and her old friend and neighbor, Judge Pillier, who had come to take her for a morning drive.
Octavie wore a plain black dress, severe in its simplicity. A narrow belt held it at the waist and the sleeves were gathered into close fitting wristbands. She had discarded her hoopskirt and appeared not unlike a nun. Beneath the folds of her bodice nestled the old locket. She never displayed it now. It had returned to her sanctified in her eyes; made precious as material things sometimes are by being forever identified with a significant moment of one's existence.
A hundred times she had read over the letter with which the locket had come back to her. No later than that morning she had again pored over it. As she sat beside the window, smoothing the letter out upon her knee, heavy and spiced odors stole in to her with the songs of birds and the humming of insects in the air.
She was so young and the world was so beautiful that there came over her a sense of unreality as she read again and again the priest's letter. He told of that autumn day drawing to its close, with the gold and the red fading out of the west, and the night gathering its shadows to cover the faces of the dead. Oh! She could not believe that one of those dead was her own! with visage uplifted to the gray sky in an agony of supplication. A spasm of resistance and rebellion seized and swept over her. Why was the spring here with its flowers and its seductive breath if he was dead! Why was she here! What further had she to do with life and the living!

平静美丽的春日像一个祝福翩然而至。沿着枝繁叶茂的路, 穿过路易斯安那州中部的狭窄曲折的溪流，一辆老式敞篷车在隆隆声中驶来，在大路和小巷中，艰难地走在满是坚硬石块的粗糙路面上。几匹肥壮的、黑色的马，缓慢而整齐的疾驰而过。在胖胖的黑人教练不停地驱策下势不可挡地前进。车中坐着一位金发女子Octavie和她的老朋友也是邻居，法官Piller，他是来带她在早上兜风的。
Octavie穿着一身简单的黑色外衣，是她一贯的简单朴素作风。一个狭长的带子系在她的腰间，两只袖子紧紧地掖在袖套里。她早已撇开她裙子的兜圈，看起来不是不像一名修女。在她紧身上衣的皱褶中依偎着那个古老的小饰盒。她现在从来不显露出它来。在她的眼里，这是神圣不可侵犯的。小饰盒用一些珍贵的材料做成，那些东西被视为在生命的存在中有着某种重要的意义和永远的标志。
她上百次的读阅那封使小饰盒回到她身边来的信。就在早上不久，她还再一次为之沉思。她坐在窗边，在膝盖上展平那封信，浓厚的香味散发在她衣服上的圣带上，还有鸟儿在歌唱，周围空气中昆虫的嗡嗡声。
她太年轻，世界太美丽，这对她来说显得很不真实，她一遍又一遍地读这封主教的信。他告诉她的那个秋日，白昼即将结束，西边天际，落日的余辉映照出漫天彩霞，夜晚的阴影笼罩住死亡的面孔。噢!她不能相信那些死亡之中有一个就是她自己！在身心痛苦的灰暗天空下，她的面容充满振作的力量。她的脸猛地抽搐一下，反抗和反叛的勇气支配了她。为什么在他死后，这里春天的花朵还是充满了诱惑？为什么她还在这里？以后她该怎么做，该怎么活下去呢？