Does not grief, after all, call forth enough tears for us to forgive joy
the solitary one she perchance causes us to shed!

Life is not so sweet for us to risk ourselves in it singlehanded, and
when the heart is empty the way seems very long.

It is so pleasant to feel one's self loved, to hear beside one the
cadenced steps of one's fellow-travellers, and to say, "They are here,
our three hearts beat in unison." So pleasant once a year, when the
great clock strikes the first of January, to sit down beside the path,
with hands locked together, and eyes fixed on the unknown dusty road
losing itself in the horizon, and to say, while embracing one another,
"We still love one another, my dear children; you rely on me, and I rely
on you. Let us have confidence, and walk steadfastly."

This is how I explain that one may weep a little while examining a new
fur tippet and opening a Noah's ark.

But breakfast time draws near. I have cut myself twice while shaving;
I have stepped on my son's wild beasts in turning round, and I have the
prospect of a dozen duty calls, as my wife terms them, before me; yet I
am delighted.

We sit down to the breakfast table, which has a more than usually festive
aspect. A faint aroma of truffles perfumes the air, every one is
smiling, and through the glass I see, startling sight! the doorkeeper,
with his own hands, wiping the handrail of the staircase. It is a
glorious day.

Baby has ranged his elephants, lions, and giraffes round his plate, and