face an expression that recalled the simple-hearted village lad; his
eyes were blue, his glance full of intelligence and kindness, and his
manners unaffected and simple. He was an untiring worker, and between
his patients and his desk he led a life of ceaseless activity. His
restless mind was dominated by a passion of energy and he thought
continually and vividly. Often, while jesting and talking, he would seem
suddenly to plunge into himself, and his look would grow fixed and deep,
as if he were contemplating something important and strange. Then he
would ask some unexpected question, which showed how far his mind had
roamed.

Success was now rapidly overtaking the young author; his first
collection of stories appeared in 1887, another one in the same year had
immediate success, and both went through many editions; but, at the same
time, the shadows that darkened his later works began to creep over his
light-hearted humour.

His impressionable mind began to take on the grey tinge of his time, but
much of his sadness may also be attributed to his ever-increasing ill
health.

Weary and with an obstinate cough, he went south in 1888, took a little
cottage on the banks of a little river "abounding in fish and crabs,"
and surrendered himself to his touching love for nature, happy in his
passion for fishing, in the quiet of the country, and in the music and
gaiety of the peasants. "One would gladly sell one's soul," he writes,
"for the pleasure of seeing the warm evening sky, and the streams and
pools reflecting the darkly mournful sunset." He described visits to
his country neighbours and long drives in gay company, during which, he
says, "we ate every half hour, and laughed to the verge of colic."