“Few know the name of Jean Guettard to-day,”
Said Shadow-of-a-Leaf; for now the mists concealed
All that clear vision. “I often visited him,
Between the lights, in after years. He lived
Alone at Paris then, in two lean rooms,
A sad old prisoner, at the Palais Royal;
And many a time, beside a dying fire,
We talked together. I was only a shadow,
A creature flickering on the fire-lit wall;
But, while he bowed his head upon his hands