HOW THE AUTHOR WAS LED TO 
‘‘ Nevertheless, slander was busy in its detraction ; 
its face was too small, said its enemies, and it was very 
gluttonous. To-day, I might subscribe to these asser- 
tions; but at seven years of age I fought for the honour 
of my rabbit! Alas! there was no need to make it the 
subject of dispute, it lived so short a time. One Sunday, 
my mother having set out for the town with my sister 
and eldest brother, we were wandering—we, the little 
ones—in the enclosure, when a sudden report broke 
over our heads, A strange cry, like an infant’s first 
moan, followed it close at hand. My rabbit had been 
wounded by a flash of fire. The unfortunate beast had 
transgressed beyond the vineyard-hedge, and a neigh- 
bour, having nothing better to do, had amused himself 
with shooting at it. 
“T was in time to see it rise up, bleeding. So 
great was my grief that I almost choked, utterly unable 
to sob out a single word. But for my father, who 
received me in his arms, and by gentle words gave my 
full heart relief, I should have fainted. My limbs 
yielded under me. Pardon the tears which this recollec- 
tion still calls forth. 
“For the first time, and in early youth, I hada 
revelation of death, abandonment, desolation. The 
house, the garden, appeared to me empty and bare. 
Do not laugh: my grief was bitter, and all the deeper 
because concentrated in myself. 
‘““Thenceforth, having learned the meaning of death, 
I began to watch my father with wistful eyes. I 
saw, not without terror, that his face was very pale 
and his hair white. He would quit us; he would go 
