...When the sweet days begin, and the earth wakes and turns green, and the languor of the fragrant air caresses our bodies and enters our breasts as though it pierced to our very hearts—then we feel a vague desire to gather some vague happiness, and we long to wander, to seek adventures, to drink deep from the springs of spring.

...The winter had been harsh, and so this passion was a deep breathing-in of the month of spring, like a zephyr flooding over me, like a pouring rain.

I awoke one morning and saw from my window, above the neighboring houses, the vast blue horizon veiled in the gold of the sun, and the street brimming over with gaiety. So I went out, clear of mind, not knowing where to turn. I saw a smile rising to every lip, and sensed a wind of happiness blowing from every quarter in the warm spring light. The city was making merry in a flood of love; the girls tripped along in their morning finery, their eyes seeming to betray a hidden tenderness—and my heart over-flowed with agitation, and before I knew how or why, I had reached the river Seine.

The steamboat was making ready to depart, and a sudden desire came over me to go out to the woods. The boat was crowded with passengers, and when I turned, there beside me was a neighbor—a woman of Parisian grace, with a bewitching fair head, her locks drooping upon her cheeks as though a scattered glow of light, while the spring toyed with them over her ears and her lovely fair neck.

I gazed at her a long while; she turned toward me, then suddenly lowered her eyes, and the shadow of a sweet smile traced itself upon her mouth.

The quiet river opened out before us, the light filled the sky, and a murmur of the rapture of life filled the air.

My neighbor was beautiful, enchanting; in her glances were a thousand meanings and a thousand deep secrets, and in her a soft magic... And a mad desire took hold of me to clasp her in my arms and carry her far away and whisper the melodies of love into her ear. I was on the point of opening my

mouth... when someone touched my shoulder... and there was a man, neither young nor old, staring at me with mournful eyes, saying: "...A word, sir!!"

The man sensed that I had made a gesture of annoyance, and he said: "...An important matter, sir."

I rose and followed him to a corner of the boat, and he began: "Sir! In the cold, rainy winter, your doctor tells you: 'Keep your feet well warmed; beware of chills and colds and inflammations of the chest.' So you take your precautions—and even so you always spend two months in bed... But when spring comes, with all its temptations, its greenery and its flowers, its mild winds and soft breaths, and carries you off toward vague, dim things—no one comes to you and says: Beware of love! For it is on every side; it lies in wait for you in every corner... it sets its snares to catch you with all the weapons and treacheries it possesses... Beware of love!! Beware of it... for it is more dangerous than colds and inflam-mations of the chest and consump-tion and... Yes, sir, I tell you it is the government's duty to post notices on the walls reading: 'Spring is back: beware of love!!'—just as one sometimes writes on the doors of houses, 'Beware of the paint!' And since the government does not do it, I take its place and say to you: 'Beware of love! It is about to fall upon you, and it is my duty to warn you, as in Russia they warn a passerby whose nose is freezing.'"

I stood frozen and bewildered before this strange person; then I assumed an air of dignity and said: "It seems to me, sir, that you are meddling in what does not concern you."

He made a quick gesture and answered: "If I saw, sir, a man about to drown in a dangerous spot, should I then leave him to drown? But listen to my story, sir, and you will learn why I dared to speak to you in this way:

"It was last year, at just this time. You must know first that I am a clerk in the Ministry of Marine. One day I looked out of my office window, and the blue of the sky and the warbling of the nightingales so delighted me that I nearly danced among the boxes and

the stacked papers. When I left, I walked to the Seine. The weather was glorious, as it is today, and I boarded this very boat, meaning to take an outing... I seemed to kindle with the heat of the sun, and the sight of everything delighted me: the sight of the boat, the river, the trees, the houses, my neighbors... I longed to embrace anything at all in the world—and there was love, preparing its snares for me; and there, suddenly, I saw a girl climb aboard the boat, a little bag in her hand, and sit down facing me...

"She was pretty—yes, sir; but the astonishing thing is how much more beautiful women seem to us when the weather turns fair and spring has come; then we find in them a peculiar magic.

"I stared at her and she stared at me—but only from time to time, as your neighbor is doing now. At last, after we had persisted a while in this exchange of glances, I judged the moment had come to speak with her; I addressed her, and she answered me. She was graceful, as every woman is, and I warmed to her talk... and the softness of the air drew sighs from us both.

"I said to her: 'The weather must be glorious in the woods.' She said: 'Yes, no doubt!!'

"I said: 'Then will you come along, Mademoiselle, and stroll there with me a little?' She shot me a quick, sweeping glance, as if to test what manner of man I was! And after a slight hesitation she accepted my invitation. And off we went, walking side by side among the trees, in the shade of the burgeoning boughs whose green threw back the sunlight. The birds were singing on every side; my companion was transported with delight at these natural marvels, and took to darting here and there, with me behind her.

"Then she began to sing all manner of songs in mellow tones, till I nearly wept...

"Fatigue soon overcame her and she sat down on the green grass; I sat at her feet and took her two hands, on whose fingertips the pricks of needles were traced, and I was touched by that. I said to myself: 'This is the mark of sacred toil...'

"Then each of us gazed long at the other. Ah!! A woman's eye—what powers it conceals, how it stirs, invades, possesses, and captivates; how deep it seems, how brimming with allurement, with what has no end! They call that reading the soul. Ah, sir, what nonsense! For if we could truly read there what is in the