"Ah, yes, what the swallows feel."
"A yearning for that which one has never known, for distant places, for the sunshine which instinct tells us we must breathe."
"Oh, yes, that is it. I used to feel all that in the afternoons in that ornamental park. I used to stop in my walk, for I seemed to see far away, to perceive dimly as in a dream, another country."
"And since I came back have you wished to go away?"
"No ... for you come to see me, and when I go out with you I'm amused."
"I'm afraid I do little to amuse you."
"You do a great deal—you lend me books. I never cared to read, now I'm very fond of reading—and I think more."
"Of what do you think?"
"You see, I never met anyone like you before. You've travelled; you've seen everything; you know everything and everyone. When you come I seem to see in you all the grand world of fashion."
"Which you used to see far away as in a dream?"