Although I am fond of fun, I have a poetical nature. The old shepherds, the outspread hay, the birds that pursue one another from branch to branch, and the brooks that run singing over light pebbles, and the handsome lads, with complexions made purple by the sun, like grapes on very old vines,--the handsome lads with robust limbs and powerful chests,--all these things make me dream pleasant dreams. In thinking of these things, I become almost a little girl again, my soul inundated and my heart refreshed by innocence and candor, as a little rain refreshes the little flower too much burned by the sun, too much dried by the wind. And at night, while waiting for William, becoming enthusiastic over the prospects of this future of pure joys, I made verses: Petite fleur, O toi, ma soeur, Dont la senteur Fait mon bonheur ... Et toi, ruisseau, Lointain coteau, Frêle arbrisseau, Au bord de l'eau, Que puis-je dire, Dans mon délire? Je vous admire ... Et je soupire ... Amour, amour, Amour d'un jour, Et de toujours!... Amour, amour!... As soon as William returned, all poesy flew away. He brought me the heavy odor of the bar-room, and his kisses, which smelt of gin, quickly broke the wings of my dream. I never wanted to show him my verses. What was the use? He would have laughed at me, and at the sentiment that inspired them. And undoubtedly he would have said to me: "Take Edgar, now! He is an astonishing man. Does he make verses?" My poetical nature was not the only cause of my impatience to start for the country. My stomach was out of order, in consequence of the long period of poverty through which I had just passed, and perhaps also in consequence of the too abundant and exciting food that I was now enjoying, and the champagne and the Spanish wines that William forced me to drink. I was really suffering. Often, in the morning, on getting out of bed, I was seized with vertigo. During the day my legs bent under me, and I felt pains in my head, like the blows of a hammer. I really needed a quieter life, to restore me a little. Alas! it was written that all this dream of happiness and health was also to be dashed. "Oh! hell!" as Madame would say.