e than an hour or so together. He fought
against this for a time, but in the end consoled himself by saying it was
so nice to have so much pleasure that he could afford to throw a lot of
it away. Having found a theory on which to justify himself, he slept in
peace.

At Marseilles we rested, and there the excitement of the change proved,
as I had half feared it would, too much for my godson's still enfeebled
state. For a few days he was really ill, but after this he righted. For
my own part I reckon being ill as one of the great pleasures of life,
provided one is not too ill and is not obliged to work till one is
better. I remember being ill once in a foreign hotel myself and how much
I enjoyed it. To lie there careless of everything, quiet and warm, and
with no weight upon the mind, to hear the clinking of the plates in the
far-off kitchen as the scullion rinsed them and put them by; to watch the
soft shadows come and go upon the ceiling as the sun came out or went
behind a cloud; to listen to the pleasant murmuring of the fountain in
the court below, and the shaking of the bells on the horses' collars and
the clink of their hoofs upon the ground as the flies plagued them; not
only to be a lotus-eater but to know that it was one's duty to be a lotus-
eater. "Oh," I thought to myself, "if I could only now, having so
forgotten care, drop off to sleep for ever, would not this be a better
piece of fortune than any I can ever hope for?"

Of course it would, but we would not take it though it were offered us.
No matter what evil may befall us, we will mostly abide by it and see it
out.

I could see that Ernest felt much as I had felt myself. He said little,
but noted everything. Once only did he frighten me. He called me to his
bedside just as it was getting dusk and said in a grave, quiet manner
that he should like to speak to me.

"I have been thinking," he said, "that I may perhaps never recover from
this illness, and in case I do not I should like you to know that there
is only one thing which weighs upon me. I refer," he continued after a
slight pause, "to my conduct towards my father and mother. I have been
much too good to them. I treated them much too considerately," on which
he broke into a smile which assured me that there was nothing seriously
amiss with him.

On the walls of his bedroom were a series of French Revolution prints
representing events in the life of Lycurgus. There was "Grandeur d'a