I ground my teeth together and would not answer, for just at that moment I should have enjoyed seeing the Terrapin in one of the saucepans in the Albemarle Hotel kitchen. It was nearly half past five and my feet were frozen. I was half dead, too, with fatigue and suppressed anger. The rest of the examination was postponed until the next day, and the ugly band of men offered to put everything back in the trunk, but I objected to that. I sent out for five hundred yards of blue tarlatan to cover over the mountain of dresses, hats, cloaks, shoes, laces, linen, stockings, furs, gloves, etc., etc. They then made me take my oath to remove nothing, for they had such charming confidence in me, and I left my butler there in charge. He was the husband of Félicie, my maid, and a bed was put up for him on the stage. I was so nervous and upset that I wanted to go somewhere far away, to have some fresh air, and to stay out for a long time. A friend offered to take me to see the Brooklyn Bridge. “That masterpiece of American genius will make you forget the petty miseries of our red-tape affairs,” he said gently, and so we set out for Brooklyn Bridge. Oh, that bridge! It is insane, admirable, imposing, and it makes one feel proud. Yes, one is proud to be a human being when one realizes that a human brain has created and suspended in the air, fifty yards from the ground, that fearful thing which bears a dozen trains filled with passengers, ten or twelve tram cars, a hundred cabs, carriages, and carts, and thousands of foot passengers, and all that moving along together amidst the uproar of the music of the metals, clanging, clashing, grating, and groaning under the enormous weight of people and things. The movement of the air caused by this frightful, tempestuous coming and going, caused me to feel giddy and stopped my breath. I made a sign for the carriage to stand still and I closed my eyes. I then had a strange indefinable sensation of universal chaos. I opened my eyes again when my brain was a little more tranquil and I saw New York stretching out along the river, wearing its night ornaments, which glittered as much through its dress with thousands of electric lights as the firmament with its tunic of stars. I returned to the hotel reconciled with this great nation. I went to sleep tired in body but rested in mind, and had such delightful dreams that I was in a good humor the following day. I adore dreams, and my sad, unhappy days are those which follow dreamless nights. My great grief is that I cannot choose my dreams. How many times I have done all in my power at the end of a happy day to make myself dream a continuation of it! How many times I have called up the faces of those I love just before falling asleep! but my thoughts wander and carry me off elsewhere, and I prefer that or even a disagreeable dream to none at all. When I am asleep my body has an infinite sense of enjoyment, but it is torture to me for my thoughts to slumber.