The _bise_ blew tempestuously, killing the early almond blossom.

It was one of those ferocious storms which in the South commonly serve as a prelude to the spring.

But the temperature had now suddenly softened, although the wind still blew from the north.
Now on this first occasion all the butterflies hastening to the prisoner entered the garden from the north.

They followed the direction of the wind; not one flew against it.

If their guide was a sense of smell like ours, if they were guided by fragrant atoms suspended in the air, they should have arrived in the opposite direction.