away!" it sounded in every beat of her pulse. "Away!away" sounded in words that flew trembling along. The Dryad forgotto bid farewell to the regions of home; she thought not of thewaving grass and of the innocent daisies, which had looked up to heras to a great lady, a young Princess playing at being a shepherdessout in the open air.
  The chestnut tree stood upon the wagon, and nodded his branches;whether this meant "farewell" or "forward," the Dryad knew not; shedreamed only of the marvellous new things, that seemed yet sofamiliar, and that were to unfold themselves before her. No child'sheart rejoicing in innocence- no heart whose blood danced withpassion- had set out on the journey to Paris more full ofexpectation than she.
  Her "farewell" sounded in the words "Away! away!"
  The wheels turned; the distant approached; the present vanished.The region was changed, even as the clouds change. New vineyards,forests, villages, villas appeared- came nearer- vanished!
  The chestnut tree moved forward, and the Dryad went with it.Steam-engine after steam-engine rushed past, sending up into the airvapory clouds, that formed figures which told of Paris, whence theycame, and whither the Dryad was going.
  Everything around knew it, and must know whither she was bound. Itseemed to her as if every tree she passed stretched out its leavestowards her, with the prayer- "Take me with you! take me with you!"for every tree enclosed a longing Dryad.
  What changes during this flight! Houses seemed to be rising out ofthe earth- more and more- thicker and thicker. The chimneys roselike flower-pots ranged side by side, or in rows one above theother, on the roofs. Great inscriptions in letters a yard long, andfigures in various colors, covering the walls from cornice tobasement, came brightly out.
  "Where does Paris begin, and when shall I be there?" asked theDryad.
  The crowd of people grew; the tumult and the bustle increased;carriage followed upon carriage; people on foot and people onhorseback were mingled together; all around were shops on shops, musicand song, crying and talking.
  The Dryad, in her tree, was now in the midst of Paris. The greatheavy wagon all at once stopped on a little square planted with trees.The high houses around had all of them balconies to the windows,from which the inhabitants looked down upon the young fresh chestnuttree, which was coming to be planted here as a substitute for the deadtree that lay stretched on the ground.
  The passers-by stood still and smiled in admiration of its purevernal freshness. The older trees, whose buds were still closed,whispered with their waving branches, "Welcome! welcome!" Thefountain, throwing its jet of water high up in the air, to let it fallagain in the wide stone basin, told the wind to sprinkle the new-comerwith pearly drops, as if it wished to give him a refreshing draught towelcome him.
  The Dryad felt how her tree was being lifted from the wagon tobe placed in the spot where it was to stand. The roots were coveredwith earth, and fresh turf was laid on top. Blooming shrubs andflowers in pots were ranged around; and thus a little garden arosein the square.
  The tree that had been killed by the fumes of gas, the steam ofkitchens, and the bad air of the city, was put upon the wagon anddriven away. The passers-by looked on. Children and old men sat uponthe bench, and looked at the green tree. And we who are telling thisstory stood upon a balcony, and looked down upon the green springsight that had been brought in from the fresh country air, and said,what the old clergyman would have said, "Poor Dryad!"