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Updated: May 12, 2025
Soon after the cocks began answering each other, though it was but midnight; and so loud was their shrilling that I awoke, surprised to find myself sitting at my window in King's Bench Walk. A moment ago I was in Madame Ninon de Calvador's garden, and every whit as much as I am now in King's Bench Walk. Madame Ninon de Calvador what has become of her? Is the rest of her story unknown?
The passing of things is always a moving subject for meditation, and it is strange how accident will bring back a scene, explicit in every detail a tree taking shape upon the dawning sky, the hairy ugliness of the ape in its branches, and along the grey grass a waddling squad of the ducks betaking themselves to the pond, a poet talking to a commercant's wife, Madame de Calvador leaning on a lover's arm.
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