od luck."

When he came back unexpectedly and with a paternal burr in his voice
offered us "a little candle-end to take the measurements with; so often
the ladies and gentlemen forget," it was chiefly to surprise us in an
embrace, or some laughing dispute interlarded with kisses.

The apartment of three adjoining rooms like three cells in a honeycomb
is very nice. It must be bright in summer, the stairs are kept clean,
the courtyard is cool and fresh with its green lane of flower-pots. Our
windows look right out on the top of the tree. A mighty rare thing, a
tree in Paris. Spring mornings we shall be awakened by a fusillade of
bird songs.

So this is where we shall live. These rooms, in which the atmosphere
seems low and cramped and the floor is all splintered, are to serve us
as domain and empire; these walls are to be our horizon.

When I was a child and lay tucked in bed, I used to dream of "being
grown up...." Then when I was fifteen I'd say to myself "later on" so as
to hear another troubling, forbidden word echo in my ears. And now my
confused dreams are come to attend me here.... So here is the end of the
story; it is all here, the mirage.

Only yesterday the sole reason for the existence of this place was a
jaundiced, weather-beaten sign on the street.... And now our double life
has found its temple, chosen its setting, and fixed upon its rallying
point.

* * * * *

So this is the place we shall call "home." When the rain beats down out
of doors and a wrecking wind blows, this will be our unchanging harbor.
Whenever we make a new friend and we have told him everything and there
are still more things to tell, we shall welcome him across this
threshold and within these walls and let him see our ultimate selves.
And when the golden May daylight rouses you from bed and sends you
running to the window to feel its radiant stroke on your cheek and vague
longings take possession of you, it will be the fastenings of this
window which will turn to let in the breath of the dawn.

The little dining-room seems somewhat less desolate than the other wan
rooms. The ceiling still bears the mark of the hanging-lamp as a sign of
where the kindly light came from; a border of red arabesques runs round
the top of the walls, and the fireplace of russet imitation marble with
its pitted traces from invisible fingers of flame makes you feel as
though the grate were still warm.

The kitchen is so