that thought. Let me go to the town, my beloved, and tell her that I
am happy and that I have a son."

She smiled at him, knowing that his heart was hers, and said:

"Go."

And he went back by the way he had come.

He was soon at the gates of the town in front of a magnificent
residence. There was laughter and chatter within for they were giving
a feast, one to which the poor were not invited. The poet recognized
the house, as that of an old friend of his, a rich and celebrated
artist. He stopped to listen to the conversation before the latticed
gate of the park through which fountains and statues could be seen.
He recognized the voice of a woman. She was beautiful, and once had
broken his boyish heart. She was saying:

"Do you remember the great poet, Laurent Laurini?...They say he has
made a mésalliance, and has married a cowherd...."

* * * * *

Tears rose to his eyes, and he continued his way through the streets
of the town until he came to the house where he was born. The
paving-stones replied softly to the words of his tired steps. He
pushed open his door and entered. And his old dog, faithful and gentle
as ever, ran limpingly to meet him; it barked with joy, and licked his
hand. He saw that since his departure the poor beast had had some sort
of stroke or paralysis, for time and trouble afflict the bodies of