He got up to go and look for his treasure again, entered the house
that supported our backs, and left the door open, where beside the
huge fireplace in the room we saw a little girl, so seriously
playing with a doll that Blaire fell considering, and said, "She's
right."

The games of children are a momentous preoccupation. Only the
grown-ups play.

After we have watched the animals and the strollers go by, we watch
the time go by, we watch everything.

We are seeing the life of things, we are present with Nature,
blended with climates, mingled even with the sky, colored by the
seasons. We have attached ourselves to this corner of the land where
chance has held us back from our endless wanderings in longer and
deeper peace than elsewhere; and this closer intercourse makes us
sensible of all its traits and habits. September--the morrow of
August and eve of October, most affecting of months--is already
sprinkling the fine days with subtle warnings. Already one knows the
meaning of the dead leaves that flit about the flat stones like a
flock of sparrows.

In truth we have got used to each other's company, we and this
place. So often transplanted, we are taking root here, and we no
longer actually think of going away, even when we talk about it.

"The 11th Division jolly well stayed a month and a half resting,"
says Blaire.