"He loved this little cot [in Valmondois]. There were passed the only hours of his life in which he was permitted to escape from the tyranny of his calling; to hug closely his fair dreams of art; in short, to know that fruitful, restful, and encouraging work of hours chosen and determined at will. Another attraction made still more dear to him this secluded corner of an obscure village. Not only could he there breathe freely and work at ease; but he felt himself encompassed by warm friendship, neighboured by brave comrades who loved him, and who, like himself, meditated far from the bustle of towns."