the wind which blows in through door and window, as Tulou blows upon
his flute, but less agreeably.

"As soon as I am awake, I ring for Myself, and he makes up my bed. Then
he starts in sweeping, but he is far from expert in that line of
exercise.

"'Myself!'

"'What do you wish, sir?'

"'Look at that spider's-web, where that big fly is buzzing loud enough
to deafen me! Look at the sweepings scattered under the bed! Look at
the dust on the window-panes, so thick that I can hardly see!'

"'But Monsieur, I do not see . . .'

"'Come, hold your tongue! No answering back!'

"Accordingly, he holds his tongue.

"He brushes my coat and he sweeps my room while he sings, and he sings
while he sweeps, laughs while he talks, and talks while he laughs. All
things considered, he is a good lad. He has carefully put away my linen
in the wardrobe beside the chimney, after first lining it with white
paper; out of six cents' worth of blue paper, with the border thrown
in, he has made me a screen. He has painted the room white, from the
book-shelves to the chimney. When he ceases to be satisfied,--a thing
which has not yet occurred,--I shall send him to Villeparisis, to get
some fruit, or else to Albi to see how my cousin is." (April 12, 1819.)