y
little, I had adorned it with them, and I felt an inward content and
satisfaction, was more happy than if I had been in the arms of a
beloved girl, whose wonted caresses had become a soothing and
delightful necessity.

I had had this house constructed in the center of a beautiful garden,
which hid it from the public high-ways, and which was near the entrance
to a city where I could find, on occasion, the resources of society,
for which, at moments, I had a longing. All my domestics slept in a
separate building, which was situated at some considerable distance
from my house, at the far end of the kitchen garden, which in turn was
surrounded by a high wall. The obscure envelopment of night, in the
silence of my concealed habitation, buried under the leaves of great
trees, was so reposeful and so delicious, that before retiring to my
couch I lingered every evening for several hours in order to enjoy the
solitude a little longer.

One day "Signad" had been played at one of the city theaters. It was
the first time that I had listened to that beautiful, musical, and
fairy-like drama, and I had derived from it the liveliest pleasures.

I returned home on foot with a light step, my head full of sonorous
phrases, and my mind haunted by delightful visions. It was night, the
dead of night, and so dark that I could hardly distinguish the broad
highway, and consequently I stumbled into the ditch more than once.
From the custom-house, at the barriers, to my house, was about a mile,
perhaps a little more--a leisurely walk of about twenty minutes. It was
one o'clock in the morning, one o'clock or maybe half-past one; the sky
had by this time cleared somewhat and the crescent appeared, the gloomy
crescent of the last quarter of the moon. The crescent of the first
quarter is that which rises about five or six o'clock in the evening
and is clear, gay, and fretted with silver; but the one which rises
after midnight is reddish, sad, and desolating--it is the true Sabbath
crescent. Every prowler by night has made the same observation. The
first, though slender as a thread, throws a faint, joyous light which
rejoices the heart and lines the ground with distinct shadows; the last
sheds hardly a dying glimmer, and is so wan that it occasions hardly
any shadows.

In the distance, I perceived the somber mass of my garden, and, I know
not why, was seized with a feeling of uneasiness at the idea of going
inside. I slackened my pace, and walk