think I am dying, or else going mad? And no one will listen even if
I cry out. There is too much to listen to already in England. Think
of all the growing green, Hortense, if you can, where you are, so far
away from it all. Where you are it is cold and the snow is still on
the ground and only the little bloodroot is up in the woods. Here
where I am Hortense, where I am going to die, it is warm and green
full of color--oh! Such color! Before I came here, to London you
know London that is going to do so much for me, for us both, I had
one day--one day in the country. There I saw--No! They will not let
me tell you, I knew they would try to prevent me, those long gray
fingers stealing in, stealing in! But I _will_ tell you. Listen,
Hortense, please. I saw the hawthorne, pink and white, the laburnum--
yellow--not fire-color, I shall correct the Laureate there, Hortense,
when I am better, when I--publish!--It is dreadful to be alone in
London. Don't come, Hortense. Stay where you are, even if it is cold
and gray and there is no color. Keep your amulet round your neck,
dear!--I count my pulse beats. It is a bad thing to do. It is
broad daylight now and the fingers have gone. I can write again
perhaps.--The pen--The paper--The ink--God. Hortense! There is no
ink left! And my heart--My heart--Hortense!!!


Descendez a l'ombre,
Ma Jolie blonde.





Monsieur, Madame and the Pea-Green Parrot