58 
THE EMPTY CHAMBER. 
believing I should be received on the paternal threshold by the beloved 
arms. 
“ Deeply agitated, I crossed the approach to the domain, and with a 
spring arrived opposite the door which my father had so often opened 
with that ineffable smile I still can see. 
“ A child, and yet already a young girl, at that age of the imagina¬ 
tion when dreams are so powerful, I opposed the obstinate need of my 
heart to the certain fact. I waited a moment on the threshold with a 
strange anxiety; the strength of my faith would fain have conquered 
the sad reality. But the door remained closed. 
“ Then, with a trembling hand, I opened it myself to find at least 
his shadow within. But that, too, had disappeared. An obscure 
world, hostile to the light, had glided into that asylum, and I was, so 
to speak, enveloped in it. 
“ His little black table—a poor family relic—and the shelves of 
his bookcase creaked at intervals beneath the teeth of the worm. 
The chamber had already put on an air of antiquity. Great motion¬ 
less spiders,—guardians, as it were, of the place,—had threaded and 
tapestried the empty alcove. Woodlice and millipeds ran and clam¬ 
bered hither and thither, seeking a refuge under the panellings. 
“ The strange and unforeseen physiognomy of the place afflicted me 
so keenly that I fell back upon myself, and exclaimed, as the tears 
flowed down my cheeks,—‘ 0 my father! where are you ? ’ 
“ From that moment I could perceive nothing but the desolateness of 
the scene; and everywhere, in the court, in the garden, I found the new 
and silent guests who had taken possession of our places. 
“ Already the gathering mist of evening mingled with the last rays 
of the sun, and the slugs, tempted by the warm damp air, emerged in 
crowds from the leaves which strewed the garden-walks. They fared 
forth, slowly but surely, to feast on the fallen fruit. Clouds of wasps 
revelled in audacious pillage, tearing to pieces with their keen teeth 
our finest peaches and most luscious grapes. 
“ Our apple-trees, formerly so productive, were covered with net¬ 
work woven by the caterpillars, and offered us nothing but yellow 
foliage. In less than a year they had grown aged. 
