iliar, and that were to unfold themselves before her. No child's
heart rejoicing in innocence--no heart whose blood danced with
passion--had set out on the journey to Paris more full of
expectation than she.

Her "farewell" sounded in the words "Away! away!"

The wheels turned; the distant approached; the present vanished.
The region was changed, even as the clouds change. New vineyards,
forests, villages, villas appeared--came nearer--vanished!

The chestnut tree moved forward, and the Dryad went with it.
Steam-engine after steam-engine rushed past, sending up into the air
vapory clouds, that formed figures which told of Paris, whence they
came, and whither the Dryad was going.

Everything around knew it, and must know whither she was bound. It
seemed to her as if every tree she passed stretched out its leaves
towards her, with the prayer--"Take me with you! take me with you!"
for every tree enclosed a longing Dryad.

What changes during this flight! Houses seemed to be rising out of
the earth--more and more--thicker and thicker. The chimneys rose
like flower-pots ranged side by side, or in rows one above the
other, on the roofs. Great inscriptions in letters a yard long, and
figures in various colors, covering the walls from cornice to
basement, came brightly out.

"Where does Paris begin, and when shall I be there?" asked the
Dryad.

The crowd of people grew; the tumult and the bustle increased;
carriage followed upon carriage; people on foot and people on
horseback were mingled together; all around were shops on shops, music
and song, crying and talking.

The Dryad, in her tree, was now in the midst of Paris. The great
heavy wagon all at once stopped on a little square planted with trees.
The high houses around had all of them balconies to the windows,
from which the inhabitants looked down upon the young fresh chestnut
tree, which was coming to be planted here as a substitute for the dead
tree that lay stretched on the ground.

The passers-by stood still and smiled in admiration of its pure
vernal freshness. The older trees, whose buds were still closed,
whispered with their waving branches, "Welcome! welcome!" The
fountain, throwing its jet of water high up in the air, to let it fall
again in the wide stone basin, told the wind to sprinkle the new-comer
with pearly drops, as if it wished to give him a refreshing draught to
welcome him.

The Dryad felt how her tree was being lifted from the wagon to