ABSTRACT

The heedless, idle party were all together by the Apiré brook, and Tétouara, who was in her most farcical vein, was pouring forth a flood of Rabelaisian jests at us all, as we lay, half-asleep, in the long grass—stuffing herself all the while with coconuts and oranges. Nothing could be heard but her cackling tones, mingling with the chirrup of the grasshoppers chanting their midday song, at the very hour when, on the opposite side of this earthly globe, my old friends were coming out of the Paris theatres, chilled and muffled, into the icy fog of a winter's night.