PARADISE


The poet looked at his friends, his relatives, the priest, the doctor,
and the little dog, who were in the room. Then he died. Some one wrote
his name and age on a piece of paper. He was twenty-eight years.

As they kissed his forehead his friends and relatives found that he
was cold, but he could not feel their lips because he was in heaven.
And he did not ask as he had done when he was on earth, whether heaven
was like this or like that. Since he was there, he had no need of
anything else.

His mother and father, whether or not they had died before him, came
to meet him. They did not weep any more than he, for the three had
really never been separated.

His mother said to him:

"Put out the wine to cool, we are about to dine with the _Bon Dieu_
under the green arbor of the Garden of Paradise."

His father said to him:

"Go down and cull of the fruits. There is none that is poisonous. The
trees will offer them to you of their own accord, without sufferance
either to their leaves or their branches, for they are inexhaustible."

The poet was filled with joy in being able to obey his parents. When