ly saw him during those hurried weeks that he spent
with us. Of that period, which lasted so short a time, I have very
confused visions, similar to those one has of things seen during a
rapid journey. I remember vaguely that we lived more gayly, and that
his presence among us brought many young people to our house. I remember
also that he seemed at times to be preoccupied and absorbed by things
entirely outside the family sphere; perhaps he had longings for the
tropics, for the "delicious island," or it may be he dreaded his early
departure.

Sometimes I held him captive near the piano by playing for him the
haunting music of Chopin which I had but just begun to understand. He
was disquieted however by my playing, and he said that Chopin's music
was too exuberant and at the same time too enervating for me. He had
come among us so recently that he was better able to judge of me than
were the others, and he realized perhaps that my intellect was in danger
of becoming warped through the nature of the artistic and intellectual
effort it put forth; no doubt he thought Chopin and the "Donkey's
Skin" equally dangerous, and considered that I was becoming excessively
affected and abnormal in spite of my fits of childish behavior. I am
sure that he thought even my amusements were fanciful and unhealthy. Be
that as it may, he one day, to my great joy, decreed that I should learn
to ride horseback, but that was the only change his coming made in my
education. Cowardice prompted me to defer discussion of those weighty
questions appertaining to my future which I was so anxious to talk over
with him; I preferred to take my time, and, too, I shrunk from making
a decision, and thus by my silence I sought to prolong my childhood.
Besides, I did not consider it a pressing matter after all, inasmuch as
he was to be with us for some years. . . .

But one fine morning, although we had reckoned so largely on keeping
him, there came news of a higher rank and an order from the naval
department commanding him to start without delay for a distant part of
the orient, where an expedition was organizing.

After a few days which were mainly spent in preparing for that
unforeseen campaign he left us as if borne away by a gust of wind.

Our adieus were less sad this time, for we did not expect him to be
absent more than two years. . . . In reality it was his eternal farewell
to us; whatever is left of his body lies at the bottom of the Indian
Ocean