him from the bed to the
window--quite a long journey. Two or three times he almost fell on the
way, at which she laughed. One day he fairly sat down on the floor, and
she had all the trouble in the world to get him up on his feet again.
Then she made him undertake the round of the room, letting him rest by
the way on the sofa and the chairs--a tour round a little world which
took up a good hour. At last he was able to venture on a few steps
alone. She would stand before him with outstretched hands, and move
backwards, calling him, so that he should cross the room in search of
her supporting arms. If he sulked and refused to walk, she would take
the comb from her hair and hold it out to him like a toy. Then he would
come to her and sit still in a corner for hours, playing with her comb,
and gently scratching his hands with its teeth.

At last one morning she found him up. He had already succeeded in
opening one of the shutters, and was attempting to walk about without
leaning on the furniture.

'Good gracious, we are active this morning!' she exclaimed gleefully.
'Why, he will be jumping out of the window to-morrow if he has his own
way---- So you are quite strong now, eh?'

Serge's answer was a childish laugh. His limbs were regaining the
strength of adolescence, but more perceptive sensations remained
unroused. He spent whole afternoons in gazing out on the Paradou,
pouting like a child that sees nought but whiteness and hears but the
vibration of sounds. He still retained the ignorance of urchinhood--his
sense of touch as yet so innocent that he failed to tell Albine's gown
from the covers of the old armchairs. His eyes still stared wonderingly;
his movements still displayed the wavering hesitation of limbs which
scarce knew how to reach their goal; his state was one of incipient,
purely instinctive existence into which entered no knowledge of
surroundings. The man was not yet born within him.

'That's right, you'll act the silly, will you?' muttered Albine. 'We'll
see.'

She took off her comb, and held it out to him.

'Will you have my comb?' she said. 'Come and fetch it.'

When she had got him out of the room, by retreating before him all the
way, she put her arm round his waist and helped him down each stair,
amusing him while she put her comb back, even tickling his neck with
a lock of her hair, so that he remained unaware that he was going
downstairs. But when he was in the hall, he became frightened at t