The air was delightfully soft and warm when I woke this morning; it seemed like a gentle touch on my cheek, or a kitten rubbing itself against me. It flowed in a golden stream through the window; the sky had raised her cloudy eyelids, and looked at me with her pale blue eyes, while a faint ray of sunshine smiled from the opposite roof.

I felt dreamy and languid and like a boy again,—old fool that I am! But I have stopped growing old and am now retracing my steps as fast as I can; pretty soon I shall be an infant in arms once more. My heart was filled with sweet visions,—like good Roger who yearned for Alcine,—you remember? I was in such a tender humor that I could not have been persuaded to harm a fly, and any child could have played with me.

I thought I was alone, but all at once I caught sight of Martine in the corner; I had not noticed