cows and
streaked with running brooks. There, just in the middle, a factory
displays its grimy buildings. It is an eye-sore, but it leaves the mind
unscathed. Does it not represent definite and deliberate activity amid
the unconsciousness of nature?...

At this moment, Rose turns towards me; and I seem to read a sadness in
her eyes:

"What are you thinking of?" I ask.

"I am thinking that I should like to go away altogether and that we have
to be back tonight."

I kissed her and laughed.

"My darling, you must live and be happy in the present: there is plenty
of room there."

We arrived at the country-house to which I was taking her. Pretty women
in delicate morning-wraps were eagerly awaiting us on the steps, while
some of the men, attracted by the sound of our wheels, leant out from a
window to see my pretty Rose. There was a general cry of admiration:

"Why, she's magnificent!"

We stepped out of the trap and I pushed Rose towards the party, with
whispered words of encouragement; but, suddenly bending forward, with
her feet wide apart, her arms-swinging and her cheeks on fire, she dips
here and there in a series of awkward bows....

They were kind enough not to laugh; and I led the girl through the
great, cool echoing rooms, multiplied by the mirrors and filled with
marvels....

2

The sun streams through the immense, wide-open windows; and the harmony
of the ancient park mingles with that of the silk hangings and the old
furniture. The fallen leaves sprinkle tears of gold upon the deep green
of the lawns. The soft-flowing river welcomes with a quiver the perfect
beauty of the skies; rare shrubs and delicate flowers set here and there
sheaves and garlands of joy; and the golden sand of the paths
accentuates the variety of the colours. On the hill opposite, a wood
gilded by the autumn seems to be lying down like some huge animal; in
the distance, the tree-tops are so close together that one could imagine
a giant hand stroking its tawny fur. On either side of the tall
bow-windows, the scarlet satin of the curtains falls in long, straight
folds.

Let us be in a palace or a hovel, in a museum or an hotel: is not our
attention always first claimed by the window? However little it reveals,
that little still means light and life, amid our admiration of the rare
or our indifference to the ordinary. The windows represent all the
independence, hope and strength of the little souls behind them; and I
believ