And on a beautiful June Morning, redolent of lilac and syringa, gay with dragon-flies and butterflies and bumblebees, my happy childhood ended as it had begun. My farewells were heartrending (to me), but showed that I could inspire affection as well as feel it, and that was some compensation for my woe.
“Adieu, cher Monsieur Gogo. Bonne chance, et le Bon Dieu vous bénisse,” said le Père et la Mère François. Tears trickled down the Major’s hooked nose on to his mustache, now nearly white.
Madame Seraskier strained me to her kind heart, and blessed and kissed me again and again, and rained her warm tears on my face; and hers was the last figure I saw as our fly turned into the Rue de la Tour on our way to London, Colonel Ibbetson exclaiming—
“Gad! who’s the lovely young giantess that seem
