The evening passed like a moment. The old woman has told me the story of her life, sometimes smiling, sometimes crying. Perrine has sung an old ballad with her fresh young voice. Henri has told us what he knows of the great writers of the day, whose proofs he has to carry. 25 At last we were obliged to separate, not without new thanks on the part of the happy family.
I have come home slowly, with a full heart, thinking over the pure memories of this evening. It has given me comfort and much instruction. Now the years can come 30 and go. I know that no one is so unhappy as to have nothing to receive and nothing to give.
As I came in I met my rich neighbor's new equipage. She too had just returned from her evening party; and as she sprang from the carriage step with feverish impatience, I heard her murmur, "_At last!_"
I, when I left Paulette's family, said, "_So soon!_" 5
1. Is this a Christmas story? Give reasons for your answer. Is its title fitting? What in the story itself suggests the time of year? Where do the events take place? Contrast this story with "The Cratchits' Christmas," preceding, as to (_a_) kind of people; (_b_) place; (_c_) the chief actor; (_d_) the feast itself; (_e_) the manner of telling.
2. Describe Paulette's family. How did they make a living? How had the author become acquainted with Paulette?
3. Émile Souvestre (soo ves tr´) was a French novelist and dramatist (1806-1854). His chief works deal with his native Brittany, but his last book has in it charming studies of Paris life.
Here is a Christmas story of the northland, in which cities give way to pine woods, and people to silences and snow. Get the picture each stanza portrays as you read through the poem, and make a mental comparison with snow scenes with which you are familiar.
The sky was clear all yesterday, From dawn until the sunset's flame; But when the red had grown to gray, Out of the west the snow clouds came.
At midnight by the dying fire, 5 Watching the spruce boughs glow and pale, I heard outside a tumult dire, And the fierce roaring of the gale.
Now with the morning comes a lull; The sun shines boldly in the east Upon a world made beautiful In vesture for the Christmas feast.
Into the pathless waste I go, 5 With muffled step among the pines That, robed in sunlight and soft snow, Stand like a thousand radiant shrines.