“One evening he came in a state of great agitation, and confided to me that he had met in his wanderings a most amiable Butterfly who had just arrived from distant lands, bringing tidings of the wonders of the world.
“A craving for exploration had seized upon him. ‘I must either die or travel,’ said he.
“ ‘Do not die,’ I replied; ‘self-inflicted death is only fit for the sneak and coward. Let us travel!’
“My words filled him with new life; he spread his wings, and we started for Baden.
“It is impossible to describe his joy at our departure, his delighted ecstasy. He was full of young life, its hopes and aspirations. As for myself, grief had enfeebled my wings, so that I found it hard to follow him. We only stopped at Chateau Thierry, the birthplace of La Fontaine, not far from the vaunted borders of the Marne.
“Shall I tell you the true cause of our stoppage? He caught sight of a humble Violet in the corner of a wood.
“ ‘Who could help loving you, little Violet,’ he exclaimed, ‘with your face so sweet and dewy? If you only knew how charmingly honest you look, decked with your border of little green leaves, you would then understand my love. Be kind, consent to become my dear sister. See how calm I remain when near you! How I love these sheltering trees, the peaceful freshness, and the sacred perfume you breathe around. How modestly you hide your beauty in this delicious shade. Love me! love me in return, and make life happy!’
“ ‘Be a poor flower like me,’ replied the Violet, ‘and I will love you; and when winter comes, when the snow covers the ground, and the wind whistles through the leafless trees, I will hide you under my leaves, and together we will forget the cold that spreads death around. Fold your wings, and promise to be always faithful.’
“ ‘Always?’ he repeated, ‘that is too long. Besides, there is no winter!’ and he flew away.
“ ‘Don’t grieve,’ I said to the Violet, ‘you have escaped misery.’