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