of the sun rays a bird--a robin--is hopping on the twigs like a rag
jewel. All dusty in the sunshine our red hound, Mirliton, is warming
himself. So gaunt is he you feel sure he must be a fast runner.
Certainly he runs after glimpsed rabbits on Sundays in the country, but
he never caught any. He never caught anything but fleas. When I lag
behind because of my littleness my aunt turns round, on the edge of the
footpath, and holds out her arms, and I run to her, and she stoops as I
come and calls me by my name.

* * * * * *

"Simon! Simon!"

A woman is here. I wrench myself from the dream which had come into
the room and taken solidity before me. I stand up; it is my cousin
Marie.

She offers me her hands among the candles which flutter by the bed. In
their poor starlight her face appears haggard and wet. My aunt loved
her. Her lips are trembling on her rows of sparkling teeth; the whole
breadth of her bosom heaves quickly.

I have sunk again into the armchair. Memories flow again, while the
sick woman's breathing is longer drawn, and her stillness becomes more
and more inexorable. Things she used to say return to my lips. Then
my eyes are raised, and look for Marie, and turn upon her.

* * * * * *

She has leaned against the wall, and remains so--overcome. She invests