Spring! Spring!

The white roses and the jasmine bloomed on our old garden wall, and the deliciously fragrant honeysuckle hung its long garlands over it.

I began to live there from morning until night in closest intimacy with the plants and the old stones. I listened to the sound of the water as it plashed in the shade of the majestic plum tree, I studied the grasses and the wood mosses that grew at the edge of my little lake; and upon the warm side of the garden where the sun shone all through the day, the cactus put out its buds.

My Wednesday evening trips to Limoise commenced again,—and it goes without saying that I dreamed of the beloved place from one week to the next to the detriment of my lessons and my other duties.