The Life of the Fly- 

 thing gleams like glass. The hollow is lined 

 with facets gathered in sixes which flash and 

 glitter in the sun. I have seen something like 

 this in church, on the great saints'-days, when 

 the light of the candles in the big chandelier 

 kindles the stars in its hanging crystal. 



We children, lying, in summer, on the straw 

 of the threshing-floor, have told one another sto- 

 ries of the treasures which a dragon guards un- 

 derground. Those treasures now return to my 

 mind: the names of precious stones ring out 

 uncertainly but gloriously in my memory. I 

 think of the king's crown, of the princesses' 

 necklaces. In breaking stones, can I have 

 found, but on a much richer scale, the thing 

 that shines quite small in my mother's ring? 

 I want more such. 



The dragon of the subterranean treasures 

 treats me generously. He gives me his dia- 

 monds in such quantities that soon I possess a 

 heap of broken stones sparkling with magnifi- 

 cent clusters. He does more : he gives me his 

 gold. The trickle of water from the rock falls 

 on a bed of fine sand which it swirls into bub- 

 bles. If I bent over towards the light, I see 

 something like gold-filings whirling where the 

 fall touches the bottom. Is it really the 

 famous metal of which twenty-franc pieces, so 



172 



