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my stay in Paris will soon be at an end, and
that a revolution in my circumstances is at
hand.
The weathercock on the cross of Notre-Dame
des Champs seems to me to flap its wings as
though it wished to fly northwards. Anticipating
my speedy departure, I hastily conclude my
studies in the Jardin des Plantes. A zinc bath
in which I make experiments in alchemy shows
on its inner sides a landscape formed by the
evaporation of iron salts. I understand it is
a presage, but I cannot guess where this landscape
is. Hills covered with forests of firs;
lying between them, plains covered with fruit
trees and cornfields; everything indicates the
neighbourhood of a river. One of the hills with
precipices of stratified formation is crowned
with the ruins of a stately castle. I cannot
make out more, but I shall not remain long in
uncertainty.
June 25th.—We receive an invitation from the
head of the scientific occultists, the editor of the
Initiation. As the doctor and I arrived at
Marolles en Brie we received three pieces of
bad news: A weasel had killed the ducks; a
servant girl was ill; the third I forget.
On the evening of our return to Paris, I read
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