And in the long flower beds there was a profusion of roses, peonies and lilies that seemed also to have mistaken the season, for they appeared to shiver, as we did, in the chill twilight.
I have found that the melancholy one sometimes feels in the springtime usually transcends that felt in autumn, for the reason, doubtless, that the former is so out of harmony with the promise of the season.
The demoralized state into which I was thrown by everything about me gave me a longing to play a boyish trick upon Jeanne.

There came to me a desire (one that I frequently felt) to have some sort of revenge upon her, because her disposition was so much more mature and yet more sprightly than mine.

I induced her to lean over and smell the lovely lilies, and while she was doing so I, by giving her head a very slight push, buried her nose deep in the flowers and it became covered with yellow pollen.

She was indignant! And the thought that I had acted so rudely tended to make the walk home a very painful one.
The beautiful evenings of May! Had I not cherished memories of those of preceding years, or had they in truth been like this one?
Like this one in the cold and lonely garden?
Had they ended so miserably as did this play-day with Jeanne?
With a feeling of mortal weariness I said to myself: "And is this all!" an exclamation which soon afterwards became one of my most frequent unspoken reflections, a phrase indeed that I might well have taken for my motto.
When we returned I went to the wooden box to inspect our afternoon's work, and as I did so I inhaled the balsamic odor that had impregnated everything belonging to our theatre.

For a long time after that, for a year or two, perhaps longer, the odor of the pine box containing the properties of the "Donkey's Skin" recalled vividly that May evening so filled with poignant sorrow, which was one of the most singular feelings of my childhood.