Every inflexion of that beloved voice, with its scarcely perceptible foreign accent that I had never noticed before; every animated gesture, with its subtle reminiscence of both her father and her mother; her black dress trimmed with gray; her black and gray hat; the scent of sandal-wood about her--all were more distinctly and vividly impressed upon me than if she had just been actually, and in the flesh, at my bedside. Her tones still rang in my ears. My eyes were full of her: now her profile, so pure and chiselled; now her full face, with her gray eyes (sometimes tender and grave and wet with tears, sometimes half closed in laughter) fixed on mine; her lithe sweet body curved forward, as she sat and clasped her knees; her arched and slender smooth straight feet so delicately shod, that seemed now and then to beat time to her story.... And then that strange sense of the transfusion of life at the touching of the hands! Oh, it was _no dream_! Though what it was I cannot tell.... I turned on my side, happy beyond expression, and fell asleep again--a dreamless sleep that lasted till I was woke and told to dress. [Illustration: "MY EYES WERE FULL OF HER."] Some breakfast was brought to me, and _with it an envelope, open, which contained some violets, and a slip of paper, scented with sandal-wood, on which were written, in violet ink, the words-- "Parva sed Apla--a bientot! Tarapatapoum."_ I will pass over the time that elapsed between my sentence and its commutation; the ministrations and exhortations of the good chaplain; the kind and touching farewells of Mr. and Mrs. Lintot, who had also believed that I was Ibbetson's son (I undeceived them); the visit of my old friend Mrs. Deane ... and her strange passion of gratitude and admiration. I have no doubt it would all be interesting enough, if properly remembered and ably told. But it was all too much like a dream--anybody's dream--not one of _mine_--all too slight and flimsy to have left an abiding remembrance, or to matter much. In due time I was removed to the jail at----, and bade farewell to the world, and adapted myself to the conditions of my new outer life with a good grace and with a very light heart. The prison routine, leaving the brain so free and unoccupied; the healthy labor, the pure air, the plain, wholesome food were delightful to me--a much-needed daily mental rest after the tumultuous emotions of each night. For I was soon back again in Passy, where I spent every hour of my sleep, you may be sure, never very far from the old apple-tree, which went through all its changes, from bare bough to tender shoots and blossoms, from blossom to ripe fruit, from fruit to yellow falling leaf, and then to bare boughs again, and all in a few peaceful nights, which were my days. I flatter myself by this time that I know the habits of a French apple-tree, and its caterpillars! And all the dear people I loved, and of whom I could never tire, were about--all but one. _The_ One!