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r by the tea…table。 It is late； and I have long since drunk my cup of milk。 My eyes are heavy with sleep as I sit there and listen。 How could I not listen； seeing that Mamma is speaking to somebody； and that the sound of her voice is so melodious and kind？ How much its echoes recall to my heart！ With my eyes veiled with drowsiness I gaze at her wistfully。 Suddenly she seems to grow smaller and smaller； and her face vanishes to a point； yet I can still see it—can still see her as she looks at me and smiles。 Somehow it pleases me to see her grown so small。 I blink and blink； yet she looks no larger than a boy reflected in the pupil of an eye。 Then I rouse myself； and the picture fades。 Once more I half…close my eyes； and cast about to try and recall the dream； but it has gone； I rise to my feet； only to fall back fortably into the armchair。
“There！ You are falling asleep again； little Nicolas；” says Mamma。 “You had better go to by…by。”
“No； I won’t go to sleep； Mamma；” I reply； though almost inaudibly； for pleasant dreams are filling all my soul。 The sound sleep of childhood is weighing my eyelids down； and for a few moments。 I sink into slumber and oblivion until awakened by some one。 I feel in my sleep as though a soft hand were caressing me。 I know it by the touch； and； though still dreaming； I seize hold of it and press it to my lips。 Every one else has gone to bed； and only one candle remains burning in the drawing…room。 Mamma has said that she herself wi
