ing is come, you may feel it
hovering, resposeful and sweet, in the silence of the factories, passing
with the ringing of church-bells and that sharp whistle of the railways,
and filling the horizon, all around the outskirts of the city, with
an immense song, as it were, of departure and of deliverance. Then one
understands it and loves it.

O Sunday of Paris, Sunday of the toilers and the humble, often have I
cursed thee without reason, I have poured whole streams of abusive ink
over thy noisy and extravagant joys, over the dust of railway stations
filled by thy uproar and the maddening omnibuses that thou takest by
assault, over thy tavern songs bawled everywhere from carts adorned with
green and pink dresses, on thy barrel-organs grinding out their tunes
beneath the balconies of deserted court-yards; but to-day, abjuring my
errors, I exalt thee, and I bless thee for all the joy and relief thou
givest to courageous and honest labour, for the laughter of the children
who greet thee with acclamation, the pride of mothers happy to dress
their little ones in their best clothes in thy honour, for the dignity
thou dost preserve in the homes of the poorest, the glorious raiment set
aside for thee at the bottom of the old shaky chest of drawers; I bless
thee especially by reason of all the happiness thou hast brought that
morning to the great new house in the old faubourg.

Toilettes having been completed, the _dejeuner_ finished, taken on
the thumb, as they say--and you can imagine what quantity these young
ladies' thumbs would carry--they came to put on their hats before the
mirror in the drawing-room. Bonne Maman threw around her supervising
glance, inserted a pin here, retied a ribbon there, straightened her
father's cravat; but while all this little world was stamping with
impatience, beckoned out of doors by the beauty of the day, there came a
ring at the bell, echoing through the apartment and disturbing their gay
proceedings.

"Suppose we don't open the door?" propose the children.

And what a relief, with a cry of delight, they see their friend Paul
come in!

"Quick! quick! Come and let us tell you the good news."

He knew well, before any of them, that the play had been accepted. He
had had a good deal of trouble to get it read by Cardailhac, who, the
moment he saw its "short lines," as he called verse, wished to send the
manuscript to the Levantine and her _masseur_, as he was wont to do in
the case of all b