he
everlasting azure, began to pall upon him. He grew weary of being white
and swanlike, of ever swimming on heaven's limpid lake. He came to wish
for a pack of black clouds, some crumbling of the skies, that would
break upon the monotony of all that purity. And as his health returned,
he hungered for keener sensations. He now spent hours in gazing at the
verdant bough: he would have liked to see it grow, expand, and throw
out its branches to his very bed. It no longer satisfied him, but
only roused desires, speaking to him as it did of all the trees whose
deep-sounding call he could hear although their crests were hidden from
his sight. An endless whispering of leaves, a chattering as of running
water, a fluttering as of wings, all blended in one mighty, long-drawn,
quivering voice, resounded in his ears.

'When you are able to get up,' said Albine, 'you shall sit at the
window. You will see the lovely garden!'

He closed his eyes and murmured gently:

'Oh! I can see it, I hear it; I know where the trees are, where the
water runs, where the violets grow.'

And then he added: 'But I can't see it clearly, I see it without any
light. I must be very strong before I shall be able to get as far as the
window.'

At times when Albine thought him asleep, she would vanish for hours. And
on coming in again, she would find him burning with impatience, his eyes
gleaming with curiosity.

'Where have you been?' he would call to her, taking hold of her arms,
and feeling her skirts, her bodice, and her cheeks. 'You smell of all
sorts of nice things. Ah! you have been walking on the grass?'

At this she would laugh and show him her shoes wet with dew.

'You have been in the garden! you have been in the garden!' he then
exclaimed delightedly. 'I knew it. When you came in you seemed like a
large flower. You have brought the whole garden in your skirt.'

He would keep her by him, inhaling her like a nosegay. Sometimes she
came back with briars, leaves, or bits of wood entangled in her clothes.
These he would remove and hide under his pillow like relics. One day she
brought him a bunch of roses. At the sight of them he was so affected
that he wept. He kissed them and went to sleep with them in his arms.
But when they faded, he felt so keenly grieved that he forbade Albine to
gather any more. He preferred her, said he, for she was as fresh and as
balmy; and she never faded, her hands, her hair, her cheeks were always
fragrant. At