was with the bitter fragrance of mint! It was not long before the horse stood in front of Rabbit.

It was a sorry nag and dragged a two wheeled cart and was unable to move except in a jerky sort of gallop. Every leap made its disjointed skeleton quiver and jolted its harness and made its earth-colored mane fly in the air, shiny and greenish, like the beard of an ancient mariner. Wearily as though they were paving-stones the animal lifted its hoofs which were swollen like tumors. Rabbit was frightened by this great animated machine which moved with so loud a noise. He bounded away and continued his flight over the meadows, with his nose toward the Pyrenees, his tail toward the lowlands, his right eye toward the rising sun, his left toward the village of Mesplède.

Finally he crouched down in the stubble, quite near a quail which was sleeping in the manner of chickens half-buried in the dust, and overcome by the heat was sweating off its fat through its feathers.

The morning was sparkling in the south. The blue sky grew pale under the heat, and became pearl-gray. A hawk in seemingly effortless flight was soaring, and describing larger and larger circles as it rose. At a distance of several hundred yards lay the peacock-blue, shimmering surface of a river, and lazily carried onward the mirrored reflection of the alders; from their viscous leaves exuded a bitter perfume, and their intense blackness cut sharply the pale luminousness of the water. Near the dam fish glided past in swarms. An angelus beat against the torrid whiteness of a church-steeple with its blue wing, and Rabbit's noonday rest began.

* * * * *

He stayed in this stubble until evening, motionless, only troubled somewhat by a cloud of mosquitoes quivering like a road in the sun. Then at dusk he made two bounds forward softly and two more to the left and to the right.

It was the beginning of the night. He went forward toward the river where on the spindles of the reeds hung in the moonlight a weave of silver mists.

Rabbit sat down in the midst of the blossoming grass. He was happy that at that hour all sounds were harmonious, and that one hardly knew whether the calls were those of quails or of crystal springs.

Were all human beings dead? There was one watching at some distance; he was making movements above the water, and noiselessly withdrawing his dripping and shimmering net. But only the heart of the waters was troubled, Rabbit's remained calm.

And, lo, between the angelicas something that looked like a ball bit by bit came into view. It was his best-beloved approaching. Rabbit ran toward her until they met deep in the blue aftercrop of grass. Their little noses touched. And for a moment in the midst of the wild sorrel, they exchanged kisses. They played. Then slowly, side by side, guided by hunger, they set out for a small farm lying low in the shadow. In the poor vegetable garden into which they penetrated there were crisp cabbages and spicy thyme. Nearby the stable was breathing; the pig protruded its mobile snout, sniffing, under the door of its sty.

Thus the night passed in eating and amatory sport. Little by little the darkness stirred beneath the dawn. Shining spots appeared in the distance. Everything began to quiver. An absurd cock, perched on the chicken-house, rent the silence. He crowed as if possessed, and clapped applause for himself with the stumps of his wings.

Rabbit and his wife went their separate ways at the threshold of the hedge of thorns and roses. Crystal-like, as it were, a village emerged from the mist, and in a field dogs with their tails as stiff as cables were busy trying to disentangle the loops so skillfully described by the charming couple amid the mint and blades of grass.

* * * * *

Rabbit took refuge in a marl-pit over which mulberries arched, and there he stayed crouching with his eyes wide-open until evening. Here he sat like a king beneath the ogive of the branches; a shower of rain had adorned them with pale-blue pearls. There he finally fell asleep. But his dream was unquiet, not like that which should come from the calm sleep of the sultry summer's afternoon. His was not the profound sleep of the lizard which hardly stirs when dreaming the dream of ancient walls; his was not the comfortable noonday sleep of the badger who sits in his dark earthen burrow and enjoys the coolness.

The slightest sound spoke to him of danger, the danger that lies in all things whether they move or fall or strike. A shadow moved unexpectedly. Was it an enemy approaching? He knew that happiness can be found in a place of refuge only when everything remains exactly the same this moment, as it was the moment before. Hence came his love of order, that is to say his immobility.

Why should a leaf stir on the eglantine in the blue calm of an idle day? When the shadows of a copse move so slowly, that it seems they are trying to stop the passage of the hours, why should they suddenly stir? Why was there this crowd of men who, not far from his retreat, were gathering the ears of maize in which the sun threaded pale beads of light? His eyelids had no lashes, and so could not bear the palpitating and dazzling light of noondays. And this alone was sufficient reason why he knew that danger lurked if he should approach those who unblinded could look into the white flames of husbandry.

There was nothing outside to lure him before the time came when he would go out of his own accord. His wisdom was in harmony with things. His life was a work of music to him, and each discordant note warned him to be cautious. He did not confuse the voice of the pack of hounds with the distant sound of bells, or the gesture of a man with that of a waving tree, or the detonation of a gun with a clap of thunder, or the latter with the rumbling of carts, or the cry of the hawk with the steam-whistle of threshing-machines. Thus there was an entire language, whose words he knew to be his enemies.

Who can say from what source Rabbit obtained this prudence and this wisdom? No one can explain these things, or tell whence or how they have come to him. Their origin is lost in the night of time where everything is all confused and one.

Did he, perhaps, come out of Noah's ark on Mount Ararat at the time when the dove, which retains the sound of great waters in its cooing, brought the olive-branch, the sign that the great wave was subsiding? Or had he been created, such as he is, with his short tail, his stubbly hide, his cleft lip, his floppy ear, and his trodden-down heel? Did God, the Eternal, set him all ready-made beneath the laurels of Paradise?

Lying crouched beneath a rosebush he had, perhaps, seen Eve, and watched her when she had wandered amid the irises, displaying the grace of her brown legs like a prancing young horse, and extending her golden breasts before the mystic pomegranates. Or was he at first nothing but an incandescent mist? Had he already lived in the heart of the porphyries? Had he, incombustible, escaped from their boiling lava, in order to inhabit each in turn the cell of granite and of the alga before he dared show his nose to the world? Did he owe his pitch-black eyes to the molten jet, his fur to the clayey ooze, his soft ears to the sea-wrack, his ardent blood to the liquid fire?

…His origins mattered little to him at this moment; he was resting peacefully in his marl-pit. It was in a sultry August toward the end of a heavy afternoon. The sky was of the deep-blue color of a plum, puffed out here and there, as if ready to burst upon the plain.

Soon the rain began to patter on the leaves of the brake. Faster and faster came the drumming of the long rods of rain. But Rabbit was not