Little Poems in Prose

and vitality. “I am going to tell you something happened to me which never happened to you, and which is a little more interesting than your theatre and your clouds. Some days ago Fa- ther and Mother took me away with them, and as in the inn where we stopped there were not enough beds for us all, it was decided that I should sleep in the same bed as my nurse.” He drew his comrades nearer to him, and low- ered his voice. “Oh, you do not know what a strange feeling it gives, not to be alone in bed, but with one’s nurse in the shadows. As I was not asleep, I amused myself while she slept in passing my hand over her arms and her neck and her shoulders. Her arms and neck are ever so much fatter tan those of all other women, and her skin is so soft, so soft, that one would say it was letter paper, or silk paper. I had so much pleasure in this that I should have gone on for quite a long time if I had not been afraid, afraid of her waking up, and afraid too of I do not know what. Afterwards I pushed my head among her hair, which hung down her back as thick as a mane, and it smelt as nice, I assure you, as the flowers in the garden do now. Try, when you get a chance, to do as much as I, and you will see.” The young author of this prodigious disclo- sure, as he told his story, had his eyes strained