town. After leaving the village, I took the
road through the wood and it was delightful to skim along through the
dead leaves, the softly-streaming tears of autumn. Sometimes, when a
gust of wind blew, I went faster; and little yellow waves seemed to rise
and fall and chase one another all around me. Some of the trees, not yet
bare, but only thinned, traced an exquisite russet lacework against the
blue sky; and the birds warbled, cooed and whistled as in spring. I saw
the noisy, crowded streets of Paris waiting for me at the end of my day;
and this gave a flavour of sadness to the calm of the high roads, the
pureness of the air, the dear beauty of the lanes....

"It was quite early in the morning and the fields were still bathed in
a dewy radiance. I sat down for a little while on a roadside bank; an
immense plain began at the level of my face and ended by rising slowly
towards the sky. It was a very young field of corn, which the splendour
of the day turned into pearly down. I could have looked at it for ever,
at one moment letting the full glory of it burst on my dazzled eyes and
then gradually lowering my lids down to the tiny threads that trembled
and glittered in my breath. Then my mouth formed itself into a kiss; and
I amused myself by slowly and lovingly making the cool pearls of the
morning die on my warm lips...."

3

"Paris, ... 19--

"I see you, my Rose, laying supper in the wretched kitchen, while the
farm-hands gather round the hearth. I like to picture you going
cautiously through the old woman's room at night, so as to write to me
by the rays of the moon, without disturbing the household with an
unwonted light. You come and sit on the ledge of the open window, to
receive the full benefit of the moonbeams, and then you write on your
knee those trembling lines which convey your emotion to me.

"I see you in the wonderful setting of the silver-flooded orchard. The
golden silk of your long tresses embroiders your white night-dress. Your
eyes are filled with peace; you are beautiful like that; and there is
nothing so sweet as an orchard in the moonlight. The apple-trees seem to
lay their even shadows softly upon the pallor of the grass; and their
ordered quiet spreads a serene and simple joy over nature's sleep....

"Rose, at the moving period that brought us together, how I would that
your sweet composure had been sometimes a little ruffled! It would have
appeared to me of a finer quality had I found