of old texts--I can discern again, like a miniature forgotten in
some attic, a certain bright young face, with violet eyes.... Why,
Bonnard, my friend, what an old fool you are becoming! Read that
catalogue which a Florentine bookseller sent you this very morning.
It is a catalogue of Manuscripts; and he promises you a description
of several famous ones, long preserved by the collectors of Italy
and Sicily. There is something better suited to you, something
more in keeping with your present appearance.

I read; I cry out! Hamilcar, who has assumed with the approach of
age an air of gravity that intimidates me, looks at me reproachfully,
and seems to ask me whether there is any rest in this world, since
he cannot enjoy it beside me, who am old also like himself.

In the sudden joy of my discovery, I need a confidant; and it is
to the sceptic Hamilcar that I address myself with all the effusion
of a happy man.

"No, Hamilcar! no," I said to him; "there is no rest in this world,
and the quietude which you long for is incompatible with the duties
of life. And you say that we are old, indeed! Listen to what I
read in this catalogue, and then tell me whether this is a time to
be reposing:

"'LA LEGENDE DOREE DE JACQUES DE VORAGINE;--trduction francaise du
quatorzieme sicle, par le Clerc Alexandre.

"'Superb MS., ornamented with two miniatures, wonderfully executed,
and in a perfect state of preservation:--one representing the
Purification of the Virgin; the other the Coronation of Proserpine.