shadows are strong and sharp!

They wish each other the compliments of the season as they meet and
pass; they wish us nothing! We give them _la bonne annee_ at the tops of
our voices; they do not heed us in the least, though our voices are as
resonant as theirs. We are wishing them a "Happy New Year," that dawned
for good or evil nearly twenty years ago.

Out comes Gogo from the Seraskiers', with Mimsey. He makes a snowball
and throws it. It flies straight through me, and splashes itself on Pere
Francois's broad back. "Ah, ce polisson de Monsieur Gogo ... attendez un
peu!" and Pere Francois returns the compliment--straight through me
again, as it seems; and I do not even feel it! Mary and I are as solid
to each other as flesh and blood can make us. We cannot even touch these
dream people without their melting away into thin air; we can only hear
and see them, but that in perfection!

There goes that little Andre Corbin, the poulterer's son, running along
the slippery top of Madame Pele's garden wall, which is nearly ten
feet high.

"Good heavens," cries Mary, "stop him! Don't you remember? When he gets
to the corner he'll fall down and break both his legs!"

I rush and bellow out to him--

"Descends donc, malheureux; tu vas te casser les deux jambes! Saute!
saute!" ... I cry, holding out my arms. He does not pay the slightest
attention: he reaches the corner, followed low down by Gogo and Mimsey,
who are beside themselves with generous envy and admiration. Stimulated