“Well, I'll try it.”
“Stretch yourself out on the 'endormeuse.”'
A little uneasy I seated myself on the low couch covered with crepe
de Chine and stretched myself full length, and was at once bathed in a
delicious odor of mignonette. I opened my mouth in order to breathe it
in, for my mind had already become stupefied and forgetful of the past
and was a prey, in the first stages of asphyxia, to the enchanting
intoxication of a destroying and magic opium.
Some one shook me by the arm.
“Oh, oh, monsieur,” said the secretary, laughing, “it looks to me as if
you were almost caught.”
But a voice, a real voice, and no longer a dream voice, greeted me with
the peasant intonation:
“Good morning, m'sieu. How goes it?”
My dream was over. I saw the Seine distinctly in the sunlight, and,
coming along a path, the garde champetre of the district, who with his
right hand touched his kepi braided in silver. I replied:
“Good morning, Marinel. Where are you going?”
“I am going to look at a drowned man whom they fished up near the
Morillons. Another who has thrown himself into the soup. He even took
off his trousers in order to tie his legs together with them.”