THE POOR TBATELLEES. 159 



" When I used to say : ' There is a beautiful tree, a limpid 

 stream, a fine sheet of snow, or a lovely greensward,' I was 

 silenced with: 'Bah, you have not been in Switzerland!' 

 — ' No.' — ' Then never say anything about greensward, snow, 

 limpid waters, trees, or anything else in the world.' 



" One day I set out for Switzerland, not so much for the 

 sake of seeing Switzerland, as to be able to say I had been 

 there, and to be allowed to speak when I pleased, about trees, 

 grass, water, and snow. 



" I set out, then, but my dislike for travelling accompanied 

 ine, and exposed me to singular accidents. I had money and 

 time for three weeks, and I discovered, one evening, that I 

 had been fishing eight days for mullets in the little lake of 

 Mantua, believing myself to be in Switzerland ; it was very 

 beautiful, though. I loved that half-circular mountain, 

 crowned with snow; below the snow, firs with their black 

 foliage ; below the firs, fine poplars edged the water, and cast 

 over it the reflection of their lofty tops. 



" One day, as I was looking at the travellers who were 

 stopped at the douane, I found out that I was stiU in France, 

 and, therefore, immediately passed the frontier. I arrived at 

 Geneva,' but whilst travelling thither, I experienced a regret 

 and a remorse, of which the following was the subject : — 



"Whilst I was on board the boat which conveyed me by the 

 Sa6ne from Chalons to Lyons, my attention was very much 

 taken up by a woman accompanied by two children; the first 

 was about twelve years of age, she held the second in her arms. 

 There was in the appearance of this woman a mixture of dis- 

 tinction and misfortune which affected me to the highest 

 degree. Her costume was not a travelling costume, but a 

 heterogeneous composition of divers pieces of divers toilettes. 

 All was faded, and the more sad from its being plainly to be 

 seen that it had once been rich and elegant. She had a green 

 bonnet, but faded, with torn flowers ; a tartan mantle of red 

 and black check; a torn glove on one hand, the other, uncovered, 

 was white and handsome, her fingers slender, her nails very 

 nice, but not one ring, not even a wedding-ring — it was the 

 left hand that was uncovered. I have been poor, and I have 

 preserved a wonderful tact for discerning poverty in others, 

 with a glance, through the noble falsehoods of pride, througk 



