I was a student, and I had a dream of life which would not interfere with the society of my books.

I loved all rural pleasures, and I had dreamed of a life where these were spread out ready for my enjoyment.

I was a man formed to love, and there had come to me dreams of this sort of thing.
My dreams had even taken practical shape.

As I was dressing myself that morning I had puzzled my brain to find a pretext for taking the first step, which would be to remain a few days at the inn.
The pretext for doing this had appeared to me.

For a moment I had snatched at it and shown my joy, and then it had utterly disappeared--the vision, the fancy, the anticipations, the plans, the vine-covered home in the air, all were destroyed as completely as if it had been the tire of my bicycle scattered about in little bits upon the ground.
"Come along, old Orso!" I exclaimed, endeavoring to mend my pace, and giving the bear a good pull upon his chain.