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What was the matter with him? Had he a bad
conscience?
June 14th, Sunday.—In the Jardin du Luxembourg
I found a fourth heart-shaped pebble, like
the three former ones. The stone has a piece of
gold tinsel adhering to it; altogether it remains
a puzzle, but seems to foreshadow something. I
compare the four stones together before the open
window, as the bells of St. Sulpice begin to ring;
then the great bell of Notre-Dame commences,
and through these usual sounds, there comes a
heavy solemn peal, as though it issued from the
bowels of the earth. I ask the waiter who brings
ray letters what it is. He says, “The great bell
of the Church Sacré Cœur of Montmartre.”
It is then the festival of the Sacred Heart?
And I contemplate these four hard stone hearts,
curiously moved by this striking coincidence.
In the direction of Notre-Dame des Champs
I hear a cuckoo, and yet it is impossible; or
have my ears become so extra-sensitive that they
can hear as far as the wood of Meudon?
June 15th.—I go to the city to change a
cheque into bank-notes and gold. To my astonishment,
the Quai Voltaire sways under my feet;
certainly the Carrousel Bridge trembles under
the weight of the carts. But to-day, this
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