In a little while, they will be driving to the theater. Isn't to-day--? I had almost forgotten it--yes, this is my birthday. It was to-day a year ago that I went to the ball, in the character of the Lady of the Lake, and it was there he said to me--it was in the palmhouse--I can still hear his soft voice: "I have purposely chosen this day. You alone are to know it. You and I."
Oh! that night!
I wonder if they are thinking of me there?
The Egyptians, at all their festivals, displayed mementoes of their dead. I cannot write any more--I will light the candle--I must work.
There is a deaf mute who lives down in the village and works at coarse wood carvings. He has neither learned to read nor to write, nor has he ever had any religious instruction. He knows nothing at all; but he does know the church festivals, the holidays, and Shrove Tuesday especially. On those days he will plant himself, with his umbrella, in front of the church, and watch the peasants as they go by. If he sees one who pleases him, he walks up to him, takes off his coat and sits down at the table, and, without saying a word, they give him food and drink for three days.
And thus he happened to come to our house. Sometimes he cries, and cannot tell why, but he endeavors to express himself by dumb motions. The little pitchman declares that he cries because he can't eat any more.
I have tried to make myself intelligible to him, but we do not understand each other.
(Ash Wednesday.)--To-day, every one in the house is silent and thoughtful. Every brow was strewn with ashes, while they repeated: "Mortal! remember that thou art dust."