stones for the brickwork. I pick the most suitable; I break the
larger ones. And, while collecting these blocks, suddenly I forget
all about the dam which I meant to build.

On one of the broken stones, in a cavity large enough for me to put
my fist in, something gleams like glass. The hollow is lined with
facets gathered in sixes which flash and glitter in the sun. I
have seen something like this in church, on the great saints' days,
when the light of the candles in the big chandelier kindles the
stars in its hanging crystal.

We children, lying, in summer, on the straw of the threshing floor,
have told one another stories of the treasures which a dragon
guards underground. Those treasures now return to my mind: the
names of precious stones ring out uncertainly but gloriously in my
memory. I think of the king's crown, of the princesses' necklaces.
In breaking stones, can I have found, but on a much richer scale,
the thing that shines quite small in my mother's ring? I want more
such.

The dragon of the subterranean treasures treats me generously. He
gives me his diamonds in such quantities that soon I possess a heap
of broken stones sparkling with magnificent clusters. He does
more: he gives me his gold. The trickle of water from the rock
falls on a bed of fine sand which it swirls into bubbles. If I
bent over towards the light, I see something like gold filings
whirling where the fall touches the bottom. Is it really the
famous metal of which twenty-franc pieces, so rare with us at home,
are made? One would think so, from the glitter.