He was animated, cheerful, vivacious, and like himself; so that I took comfort to myself, thinking, "They were too easily alarmed, they mistook an adventitious attack for fatal symptoms."
Yes, I tried to take comfort, and breathed again after the anguish of the journey, relieved of the burden of regret which had weighed so heavily on my heart.
The morning passed rapidly and almost gayly. The lovely April sun was climbing lightly upward in the heavens; the smell of sap was in the air; life surrounded us—that renewal of things that, each springtime, revives the illusion of their eternity. Toward eleven o'clock, my father suddenly recollected that he had given me nothing to eat, and was disconsolate. "You must be dying of hunger. Why did n't you speak?"
He would not believe that I could very well wait for lunch, which Josette announced even as we were debating.
"That settles the question," said I. And I inhaled the aroma of well-known dishes, the old country dishes, savory smoked sausages, cooked in a sort of pie, a fine cheese omelette, a "stew" made pungent with skilfully distributed herbs. With a trembling hand my father filled my glass, eulogizing, as he always used to, on his light wine:
