our ravished eyes drink in those bright colors which bring mirthfulness
to our souls. And then there springs up in our hearts a desire to dance,
a desire to run, a desire to sing, a happy lightness of thought, a sort
of enlarged tenderness; we feel a longing to embrace the sun.

The blind, as they sit in the doorways, impassive in their eternal
darkness, remain as calm as ever in the midst of this fresh gaiety, and,
not comprehending what is taking place around them, they continue every
moment to stop their dogs from gamboling.

When, at the close of the day, they are returning home on the arm of a
young brother or a little sister, if the child says: "It was a very fine
day!" the other answers: "I could notice that 'twas fine. Lulu wouldn't
keep quiet."

I have known one of these men whose life was one of the most cruel
martyrdoms that could possibly be conceived.

He was a peasant, the son of a Norman farmer. As long as his father and
mother lived, he was more or less taken care of; he suffered little save
from his horrible infirmity; but as soon as the old people were gone, a
life of atrocious misery commenced for him. A dependent on a sister of
his, everybody in the farmhouse treated him as a beggar who is eating
the bread of others. At every meal the very food he swallowed was made a
subject of reproach against him; he was called a drone, a clown; and
although his brother-in-law had taken possession of his portion of the
inheritance, the soup was given to him grudgingly--just enough to save
him from dying.

His face was very pale and his two big white eyes were like wafers. He