CHAPTER XIV

THE BLUE NOTE-BOOK AGAIN

Only to think that I was going to throw you into the fire, poor dear!
Was I not foolish? In whom else could I confide? If I had not you,
to whom could I tell all those little things at which every one laughs,
but which make you cry!

This evening, for instance, I dined alone, for Georges was invited out;
well, to whom else can I acknowledge that when I found myself alone,
face to face with a leg of mutton, cooked to his liking, and with the
large carving-knife which is usually beside his plate, before me, I began
to cry like a child? To whom else can I admit that I drank out of the
Bohemian wine-glass he prefers, to console me a little?

But if I were to mention this they would laugh in my face. Father
Cyprien himself, who nevertheless has a heart running over with kindness,
would say to me:

"Let us pass that by, my dear child; let us pass that by."

I know him so well, Father Cyprien; while you, you always listen to me,
my poor little note-book; if a tear escapes me, you kindly absorb it and
retain its trace like a good-hearted friend. Hence I love you.

And, since we are tete-a-tete, let us have a chat. You won't be angry
with me for writing with a pencil, dear. You see I am very comfortably
settled in my big by-by and I do not want to have any ink-stains. The
fire sparkles on the hearth, the street is silent; let us forget that