clouds, some crumbling of the skies, that would break upon the monotony of all that purity.  And as his health returned, he hungered for keener sensations.  He now spent hours in gazing at the verdant bough:  he would have liked to see it grow, expand, and throw out its branches to his very bed.  It no longer satisfied him, but only roused desires, speaking to him as it did of all the trees whose deep-sounding call he could hear although their crests were hidden from his sight.  An endless whispering of leaves, a chattering as of running water, a fluttering as of wings, all blended in one mighty, long-drawn, quivering voice, resounded in his ears.

‘When you are able to get up,’ said Albine, ’you shall sit at the window.  You will see the lovely garden!’

He closed his eyes and murmured gently: 

’Oh!  I can see it, I hear it; I know where the trees are, where the water runs, where the violets grow.’

And then he added:  ’But I can’t see it clearly, I see it without any light.  I must be very strong before I shall be able to get as far as the window.’

At times when Albine thought him asleep, she would vanish for hours.  And on coming in again, she would find him burning with impatience, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

‘Where have you been?’ he would call to her, taking hold of her arms, and feeling her skirts, her bodice, and her cheeks.  ’You smell of all sorts of nice things.  Ah! you have been walking on the grass?’

At this she would laugh and show him her shoes wet with dew.

‘You have been in the garden! you have been in the garden!’ he then exclaimed delightedly.  ’I knew it.  When you came in you seemed like a large flower.  You have brought the whole garden in your skirt.’

He would keep her by him, inhaling her like a nosegay.  Sometimes she came back with briars, leaves, or bits of wood entangled in her clothes.  These he would remove and hide under his pillow like relics.  One day she brought him a bunch of roses.  At the sight of them he was so affected that he wept.  He kissed them and went to sleep with them in his arms.  But when they faded, he felt so keenly grieved that he forbade Albine to gather any more.  He preferred her, said he, for she was as fresh and as balmy; and she never faded, her hands, her hair, her cheeks were always fragrant.  At last he himself would send her into the garden, telling her not to come back before an hour.

‘In that way,’ he said, ’I shall get sunlight, fresh air, and roses till to-morrow.’

Often, when he saw her coming in out of breath, he would cross-examine her.  Which path had she taken?  Had she wandered among the trees, or had she gone round the meadow side?  Had she seen any nests?  Had she sat down behind a bush of sweetbriar, or under an oak, or in the shade of a clump of poplars?  But when she answered him and tried to describe the garden to him, he would put his hand to her lips.