Her shadow stretched before her like the little girl she had been and who loved above all to offer her mother a bouquet of wild flowers that she picked in the meadow around the house. From now on she preferred to leave nature untouched, except that morning when on the path leading to the village square, this childhood memory came back to her at the sight of a large mauve carpet spotted with pale pink and bright yellow and waving in the breeze. So she had carefully picked a few strands, now gathered in one hand while the other held a field cockle whose fresh spring scent she breathed in with nostalgia.