I woke up again today to the sound of rainwater dripping through the hole in the roof. Drip, drip, drip. I like this sound. It feels like it's waking me up to tell me that today is another day I can see her.

It's a half-hour walk to the back gate. Two sous per load of firewood. Five loads make ten sous. That's one loaf of bread, two onions, and if I'm lucky, a bunch of wilted violets from the flower lady. She sells the wilted ones for half price. Even wilted, violets are truly beautiful. They're the same color as her eyes. Her eyes...

I can't forget that day. I was straightening my back after unloading the third pile when I saw her. Through the lace curtains, she looked at me—clearly, definitely. The old servant clipped me on the back of the head, saying she was just checking the weather, but why would she look toward me to check the weather? The sky is up above.

From that day on, I fell in love. Or rather, it's more like love fell upon me.

Night has fallen before I knew it. I climbed over the wall again and stood under the lilac tree, facing the direction where I can see her best.

A candle is lit in the window. She isn't asleep yet. I wonder what book she's reading. I wonder what she's thinking. Perhaps, in some small corner of her heart, she might be thinking of that foolish lad who carries firewood at the back gate.... It's probably not true, but I wait with a hopeful heart, thinking she might catch a glimpse of me under the tree by chance.