vigorous life, and a profound sensitiveness. The happy old man followed with a maternal solicitude the growth of this fair hair, first down, then silk, then light and fine hair, so endearing to the fingers that stroke it. He often kissed the naked little feet, the toes of which, covered with film, showing the blood beneath, were like rose buds. He was mad about this little girl. When she tried to speak, or when she fixed her beautiful soft blue eyes on all objects, with that reflective look which seems to be the dawning of thought and which she ended in a laugh, he would remain beside her for hours together, seeking, with Jordy, the reasons, which so many other people call caprices, hidden under the slightest phenomena of this delicious phase of life when the child is at once blossom and fruit, a confused intelligence, a perpetual movement, and a passionate longing. Ursule’s beauty and gentleness endeared her so much to the doctor, that he would have liked to change all the laws of Nature for her; he sometimes told old Jordy that his teeth ached when Ursule was cutting hers. When old men love children, they place no bounds upon their passion, but adore them. For the sake of these little beings, they suppress their hobbies, and for them call to mind their own past. Their experience, indulgence and patience, all the acquisitions of life, so painfully hoarded a treasure, they give up to the young life through which they grow young again, and so supply the place of maternity by intelligence. Their ever-watchful
