e little panes; and, stretching your legs toward the
fire, you think of those without. You think of the sailors, of the old
doctor driving his little cabriolet, the hood of which sways to and fro
as the wheels sink into the ruts, and Cocotte neighs in the teeth of the
wind. You think of the two gendarmes, with the rain streaming from their
cocked hats; you see them, chilled and soaked, making their way along the
path among the vineyards, bent almost double in the saddle, their horses
almost covered with their long blue cloaks. You think of the belated
sportsman hastening across the heath, pursued by the wind like a criminal
by justice, and whistling to his dog, poor beast, who is splashing
through the marshland. Unfortunate doctor, unfortunate gendarmes,
unfortunate sportsman!

And all at once the door opens and Baby rushes in exclaiming: "Papa,
dinner is ready." Poor doctor! poor gendarmes!

"What is there for dinner?"

The cloth was as white as snow in December, the plate glittered in the
lamplight, the steam from the soup rose up under the lamp-shade, veiling
the flame and spreading an appetizing smell of cabbage. Poor doctor! poor
gendarmes!

The doors were well closed, the curtains carefully drawn. Baby hoisted
himself on to his tall chair and stretched out his neck for his napkin to
be tied round it, exclaiming at the same time with his hands in the air:
"Nice cabbage soup." And, smiling to myself, I said: "The youngster has
all my tastes."

Mamma soon came, and cheerfully pulling off her tight gloves: "There,
sir, I think, is something that you are very fond of," she said to me.

It was a pheasant day, and instinctively I turned round a little to catch
a glimpse on the sideboard of a dusty bottle of my old Chambertin.
Pheasant and Chambertin! Providence created them for one another and my
wife has never separated them.

"Ah! my children, how comfortable you are here," said I, and every one
burst out laughing. Poor gendarmes! poor doctor!

Yes, yes, I am very fond of the autumn, and my darling boy liked it as
well as I did, not only on account of the pleasure there is in gathering
round a fine large fire, but also on account of the squalls themselves,
the wind and the dead leaves. There is a charm in braving them. How many
times we have both gone out for a walk through the country despite cold
and threatening clouds. We were wrapped up and shod with thick boots; I
took his hand and we started off at hapha