NEWS OF SPRING 



maid ; and the heavy thyme that thrusts 

 its grey head between the broken 

 stones. 



But, above all, this is the incompar- 

 able hour, the diaphanous and liquid 

 hour of the wood-violet. Its proverbial 

 humility becomes usurping and almost 

 intolerant. It no longer cowers timidly 

 among the leaves: it hustles the grass, 

 overtowers it, blots it out, forces its co- 

 lours upon it, fills it with its breath. Its 

 unnumbered smiles cover the terraces 

 of olives and vines, the tracks of the ra- 

 vines, the bend of the valleys with a net 

 of sweet and innocent gaiety ; its per- 

 fume, fresh and pure as the soul of the 

 mountain spring, makes the air more 

 translucent, the silence more limpid and 

 C 56 ^ 



