perfumes. The
strong yet sweet odor, delicious as some dainty, seems to blend with our
being, to saturate us, to intoxicate us, to enervate us, to plunge us
into a sleepy, dreamy torpor. As though it were an opium prepared by the
hands of fairies and not by those of druggists.

This is a country of ravines. The surface of the mountains is cleft,
hollowed out in all directions, and in these sinuous crevices grow
veritable forests of lemon trees. Here and there where the steep gorge
is interrupted by a sort of step, a kind of reservoir has been built
which holds the water of the rain storms.

They are large holes with slippery walls with nothing for any one to
grasp hold of should they fall in.

I was walking slowly in one of these ascending valleys or gorges,
glancing through the foliage at the vivid-hued fruit that remained on
the branches. The narrow gorge made the heavy odor of the flowers still
more penetrating; the air seemed to be dense with it. A feeling of
lassitude came over me and I looked for a place to sit down. A few drops
of water glistened in the grass. I thought that there was a spring near
by and I climbed a little further to look for it. But I only reached the
edge of one of these large, deep reservoirs.

I sat down tailor fashion, with my legs crossed under me, and remained
there in a reverie before this hole, which looked as if it were filled
with ink, so black and stagnant was the liquid it contained. Down
yonder, through the branches, I saw, like patches, bits of the
Mediterranean gleaming so that they fairly dazzled my eyes. But my
glance always returned to the immense somber well that appeared to be
inhabited by no aquatic animals, so motionless was its surface. Suddenly
a voice made me tremble. An old gentleman who was picking flowers--this
country is the richest in Europe for herbalists--asked me:

"Are you a relation of those poor children, monsieur?"

I looked at him in astonishment.

"What children, monsieur?"

He seemed embarrassed and answered with a bow:

"I beg your pardon. On seeing you sitting thus absorbed in front of
this reservoir I thought you were recalling the frightful tragedy that
occurred here."

Now I wanted to know about it, and I begged him to tell me the story.

It is very dismal and very heart-rending, my dear friend, and very
trivial at the same time. It is a simple news item. I do not know
whether to attribute my emotion to the dramatic manner in which the