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morning, the Luxembourg, solitary and depopulated, was
charming. The quincunxes and flower-beds shed forth
balm and dazzling beauty into the sunlight. The branches,
wild with the brilliant glow of midday, seemed endeavor-
ing to embrace. In the sycamores there was an uproar of
linnets, sparrows triumphed, woodpeckers climbed along
the chestnut trees, administering little pecks on the bark.
The flower-beds accepted the legitimate royalty of the lilies;
the most august of perfumes is that which emanates from
whiteness. The peppery odor of the carnations was percep-
tible. The old crows of Marie de Medici were amorous in the
tall trees. The sun gilded, empurpled, set fire to and lighted
up the tulips, which are nothing but all the varieties of flame
made into flowers. All around the banks of tulips the bees,
the sparks of these flame-flowers, hummed. All was grace
and gayety, even the impending rain; this relapse, by which
the lilies of the valley and the honeysuckles were destined
to profit, had nothing disturbing about it; the swallows in-
dulged in the charming threat of flying low. He who was
there aspired to happiness; life smelled good; all nature ex-
haled candor, help, assistance, paternity, caress, dawn. The
thoughts which fell from heaven were as sweet as the tiny
hand of a baby when one kisses it.
The statues under the trees, white and nude, had robes of
shadow pierced with light; these goddesses were all tattered
with sunlight; rays hung from them on all sides. Around
the great fountain, the earth was already dried up to the
point of being burnt. There was sufficient breeze to raise lit-
tle insurrections of dust here and there. A few yellow leaves,