And yet the return home from Limoise Thursday evenings would have had a great charm but for the remorse¹ I almost always felt because of neglected duties.  
My friends took me as far as the river in the carriage, or I rode on a donkey, or we walked. Once past the stony² plateau on the south bank of the river, and once over it and upon the home side I found my father and sister awaiting me; I walked gayly beside them in the straight path lying between the extensive meadows that led to our house. I went at a brisk pace in my eagerness to see mamma, my aunts and our dear home.
 
When we entered the town, by the old disused gate, it was always dusk, the dusk of a spring or summer night; as we passed the barracks we heard the familiar drums and bugles³ sounding the hour for the sailors' all-too-early bed.
 
And when we arrived at the house I usually spied my beloved ones (clothed in their black dresses) seated in the honeysuckle

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