boy of seven or eight years was playing in front of them. Whilst his
mother was sewing on an adjoining bench, he played all alone at being a
run-away horse, and with that power of illusion, of which children are
capable, he imagined that he was at the same time the horse, and those
who ran after him, and those who fled in terror before him. He kept
struggling with himself and shouting: "Stop him, Hi! Hi! This is an
awful horse, he has got the bit between his teeth."

Caroline asked the question:

"Do you think that men were happy formerly?"

Her companion answered:

"They suffered less when they were younger. They acted like that little
boy: they played; they played at arts, at virtues, at vices, at heroism,
at beliefs, at pleasures; they had illusions which entertained them;
they made a noise; they amused themselves. But now. . . ."

He interrupted himself, and looked again at his watch.

The child, who was running, struck his foot against the little girl's
pail, and fell his full length on the gravel. He remained a moment
stretched out motionless, then raised himself up on the palms of his
hands. His forehead puckered, his mouth opened, and he burst into tears.
His mother ran up, but Caroline had lifted him from the ground and was
wiping his eyes and mouth with her handkerchief.

The child kept on sobbing and Clair took him in his arms.