.She
wondered
how
they
felt
,
these
people
who
smiled
and
span
,
and
ate
and
drank
,
and
sorrowed
and
enjoyed
,
and
were
in
health
and
disease
,
at
feast
and
at
funeral
,
always
together
,
always
bound
in
one
bond
of
a
common
humanity
;
these
people
,
whose
God
on
the
cross
never
answered
them
;
who
were
poor
,
she
knew
;
who
toiled
early
and
late
;
who
were
heavily
taxed
;
who
fared
hardly
and
scantily
;
yet
who
for
the
main
part
contrived
to
be
mirthful
and
content
,
and
to
find
some
sunshine
in
their
darkened
hours
,
and
to
cling
to
one
another
,
and
in
a
way
be
glad
.
Just
above
her
was
the
corner
window
of
a
very
ancient
house
,
encrusted
with
blazonries
and
carvings
.
It
had
been
a
prince‐bishop’s
palace
;
it
was
now
the
shared
shelter
of
half
a
score
of
lace
weavers
and
of
ivory
workers
,
each
family
in
their
chamber
,
like
a
bee
in
its
cell
.
As
the
boat
floated
under
one
of
the
casements
,
she
saw
that
it
stood
open
;
there
was
a
china
cup
filled
with
house‐born
primroses
on
the
broad
sill
;
there
was
an
antique
illuminated
Book
of
Hours
lying
open
beside
the
flowers
;
there
was
a
strong
fire‐light
shining
from
within
;
there
was
an
old
woman
asleep
and
smiling
in
her
dreams
beside
the
hearth
;
by
the
open
book
was
a
girl
,
leaning
out
into
the
chill
damp
night
,
and
looking
down
the
street
as
though
in
search
for
some
expected
and
thrice‐welcome
guest
.
She
was
fair
to
look
at
,
with
dark
hair
twisted
under
her
towering
white
cap
,
and
a
peach‐like
cheek
and
throat
,
and
her
arms
folded
against
her
blue
’kerchief
crossed
upon
her
chest
.
Into
the
chamber
,
unseen
by
her
,
a
young
man
stole
across
the
shadows
,
and
came
unheard
behind
her
and
bent
his
head
to
hers
,
and
kissed
her
ere
she
knew
that
he
was
there
.
She
started
with
a
little
happy
cry
and
pushed
him
away
with
pretty
provocation
;
he
drew
her
into
his
arms
and
into
the
chamber
;
he
shut‐to
the
lattice
,
and
left
only
a
dusky
reflection
from
within
shining
through
the
panes
made
dark
by
age
and
dust
.
Folle‐Farine
had
watched
them
;
as
the
window
closed
her
head
dropped
,
she
was
stirred
with
a
mournful
,
passionate
,
contemptuous
wonder
;
what
was
this
love
that
was
about
her
everywhere
,
and
yet
with
which
she
had
no
share
?
She
only
thought
of
it
with
haughtiest
scorn
;
and
yet
—
There
had
come
a
great
darkness
on
the
river
,
a
surly
roughness
in
the
wind
;
the
shutters
were
now
closed
in
many
of
the
houses
of
the
water‐street
,
and
their
long
black
shadows
fell
across
the
depth
that
severed
them
,
and
met
and
blended
in
the
twilight
.
The
close
of
this
day
was
stormy
;
the
wind
blew
the
river
swiftly
;
the
heavy
raw
mists
were
setting
in
from
the
sea
as
the
night
descended
.
She
did
not
heed
these
;
she
liked
the
wild
weather
best
;
she
loved
the
rush
of
a
chill
wind
amongst
her
hair
,
and
the
moisture
of
blown
spray
upon
her
face
;
she
loved
the
manifold
phantasies
of
the
clouds
,
and
the
melodies
of
the
blast
coming
over
the
sands
and
the
rushes
.
She
loved
the
swirl
and
rage
of
the
angry
water
,
and
the
solitude
that
closed
in
round
her
with
the
darkness
.
The
boat
passed
onward
through
the
now
silent
town
;
only
in
one
other
place
the
light
glowed
through
the
un‐
shuttered
lattices
that
were
ruddy
and
emblematic
with
the
paintings
of
the
Renaissance
.
It
was
the
window
of
the
gardener’s
wife
.
At
that
season
there
could
bloom
neither
saxifrage
nor
carnation
;
but
some
green‐leaved
winter
shrub
with
rosy
laden
berries
had
replaced
them
,
and
made
a
shining
frame
all
round
the
painted
panes
.
The
fair
woman
was
within
;
her
delicate
head
rose
out
of
the
brown
shadows
round
,
with
a
lamp
burning
above
it
and
a
little
oval
mirror
before
.
Into
the
mirror
she
was
gazing
with
a
smile
,
whilst
with
both
hands
about
her
throat
she
clasped
some
strings
of
polished
shells
brought
to
her
from
the
sea
.
“
How
white
and
how
warm
and
how
glad
she
is
!
”
thought
Folle‐Farine
,
looking
upward
;
and
she
rowed
in
the
gloom
through
the
sluggish
water
with
envy
at
her
heart
.
She
was
growing
harder
,
wilder
,
worse
,
with
every
day
;
more
and
more
like
some
dumb
fierce
forest
beast
,
that
flees
from
every
step
and
hates
the
sound
of
every
voice
.
Since
the
night
that
they
had
pricked
her
for
a
witch
,
the
people
had
been
more
cruel
to
her
than
ever
;
they
cast
bitter
names
at
her
as
she
went
by
;
they
hissed
and
hooted
her
as
she
took
her
mule
through
their
villages
,
or
passed
them
on
the
road
with
her
back
bent
under
some
load
of
faggots
,
or
of
winter
food
;
once
or
twice
they
stoned
her
,
and
chance
alone
had
saved
her
from
injury
.
For
it
was
an
article
of
faith
in
all
the
hamlets
round
that
she
had
killed
old
Manon
Dax
.
The
Flandrins
said
so
,
and
they
were
good
pious
people
who
would
not
lie
.
Every
dusky
evening
when
the
peasantry
,
through
the
doors
of
their
cabins
,
saw
the
gleam
of
her
bright
red
girdle
and
the
flash
of
her
hawk’s
eyes
,
where
she
plodded
on
through
the
mist
on
her
tyrant’s
errands
,
they
crossed
themselves
and
told
each
other
for
the
hundredth
time
the
tale
of
her
iniquities
over
their
pan
of
smoking
chestnuts
.
It
had
hardened
her
tenfold
;
it
had
made
her
brood
on
sullen
dreams
of
a
desperate
vengeance
.
Marcellin
,
too
,
was
gone
;
his
body
had
been
eaten
by
the
quicklime
in
the
common
ditch
,
and
there
was
not
even
a
voice
so
stern
as
his
to
bid
her
a
good
morrow
.
He
had
been
a
harsh
man
,
of
dark
repute
and
bitter
tongue
;
but
in
his
way
he
had
loved
her
;
in
his
way
,
with
the
eloquence
that
had
remained
to
him
,
and
by
the
strange
stories
that
he
had
told
her
of
that
wondrous
time
wherein
his
youth
had
passed
,
when
men
had
been
as
gods
and
giants
,
and
women
either
horrible
as
the
Medusa
or
sublime
as
the
Iphigenia
,
he
had
done
something
to
awaken
her
mind
;
to
arouse
her
hopes
;
to
lift
her
up
from
the
torpor
of
toil
,
the
lusts
of
hatred
,
the
ruinous
apathy
of
despair
.
But
he
was
dead
;
and
she
was
alone
;
and
was
abandoned
utterly
to
herself
.
She
mourned
for
him
with
a
passionate
pain
that
was
all
the
more
despairing
,
because
no
sound
of
it
could
ever
pass
her
lips
to
any
creature
.
To
and
fro
continually
she
went
by
the
road
on
which
he
had
died
alone
;
by
the
heap
of
broken
stones
,
by
the
wooden
crucifix
,
by
the
high
hedge
and
the
cornlands
beyond
.
Every
time
she
went
the
blood
beat
in
her
brain
,
the
tears
swelled
in
her
throat
;
she
hated
with
a
hatred
that
consumed
her
,
and
was
ready
to
ripen
into
any
deadly
deed
,
the
people
who
had
shunned
him
in
his
life
,
and
in
his
death
derided
and
insulted
him
,
and
given
him
such
burial
as
they
gave
the
rotten
carcass
of
some
noxious
beast
.
Her
heart
was
ripe
for
any
evil
that
should
have
given
her
vengeance
;
a
dull
cold
sense
of
utter
desolation
and
isolation
was
always
on
her
;
the
injustice
of
the
people
began
to
turn
her
blood
to
gall
,
her
courage
into
cruelty
;
there
began
to
come
upon
her
the
look
of
those
who
brood
upon
a
crime
.
It
was
,
in
truth
,
but
the
despairing
desire
to
live
that
stirred
within
her
;
to
know
,
to
feel
,
to
roam
,
to
enjoy
,
to
suffer
still
,
if
need
be
;
but
to
suffer
something
else
than
the
endless
toil
of
the
field‐ox
and
tow‐horse
,
something
else
than
the
unavenged
blow
that
pays
the
ass
and
the
dog
for
their
services
.
The
desire
to
be
free
grew
upon
her
with
all
the
force
and
fury
inherited
from
her
father’s
tameless
and
ever‐wandering
race
;
if
a
crime
could
have
made
her
free
she
would
have
seized
it
.
She
was
in
the
prison
of
a
narrow
and
hated
fate
;
and
from
it
she
looked
out
on
the
desert
of
an
endless
hate
,
which
stretched
around
her
without
one
blossom
of
love
,
one
well‐spring
of
charity
,
rising
in
its
deathlike
waste
.
The
dreamy
imaginations
,
the
fantastic
pictures
that
had
been
so
strong
in
her
in
her
early
years
,
were
still
there
,
though
distorted
by
ignorance
and
inflamed
by
despair
.
Though
,
in
her
first
poignant
grief
for
him
,
she
had
envied
Marcellin
his
hard‐won
rest
,
his
grave
in
the
public
ditch
of
the
town
,
it
was
not
in
her
to
desire
to
die
.
She
was
too
young
,
too
strong
,
too
restless
,
too
impatient
,
and
her
blood
of
the
desert
and
the
forest
was
too
hot
.
What
she
wanted
was
to
live
.
Live
as
the
great
moor
bird
did
that
she
had
seen
float
one
day
over
these
pale
,
pure
,
blue
skies
,
with
its
mighty
wings
outstretched
in
the
calm
grey
weather
;
which
came
none
knew
whence
,
and
which
went
none
knew
whither
;
which
poised
silent
and
stirless
against
the
clouds
;
then
called
with
a
sweet
wild
love‐note
to
its
mate
,
and
waited
for
him
as
he
sailed
in
from
the
misty
shadows
where
the
sea
lay
;
and
with
him
rose
yet
higher
and
higher
in
the
air
;
and
passed
westward
,
cleaving
the
fields
of
light
,
and
so
vanished
;
—
a
queen
of
the
wind
,
a
daughter
of
the
sun
;
a
creature
of
freedom
,
of
victory
,
of
tireless
movement
,
and
of
boundless
space
,
a
thing
of
heaven
and
liberty
.
*
*
*
*
*
The
evening
became
night
;
a
night
rough
and
cold
almost
as
winter
.
There
was
no
boat
but
hers
upon
the
river
,
which
ran
high
and
strong
.
She
left
the
lights
of
the
town
behind
her
,
and
came
into
the
darkness
of
the
country
.
Now
and
then
the
moon
shone
a
moment
through
the
storm
wrack
,
here
and
there
a
torch
glimmered
,
borne
by
some
wayfarer
over
a
bridge
.
There
was
no
other
light
.
The
bells
of
the
cathedral
chiming
a
miserere
,
sounded
full
of
woe
behind
her
in
the
still
sad
air
.
There
stood
but
one
building
between
her
and
her
home
,
a
square
strong
tower
built
upon
the
edge
of
the
stream
,
of
which
the
peasants
told
many
tales
of
horror
.
It
was
of
ancient
date
,
spacious
,
and
very
strong
.
Its
upper
chambers
were
used
as
a
granary
by
the
farm‐people
who
owned
it
;
the
vaulted
hall
was
left
unused
by
them
,
partly
because
the
river
had
been
known
to
rise
high
enough
to
flood
the
floor
;
partly
because
legend
had
bequeathed
to
it
a
ghastly
repute
of
spirits
of
murdered
men
who
haunted
it
.
No
man
or
woman
in
all
the
country
round
dared
venture
to
it
after
nightfall
;
it
was
all
that
the
stoutest
would
do
to
fetch
and
carry
grain
there
at
broad
day
;
and
the
peasant
who
,
being
belated
,
rowed
his
market‐boat
past
it
when
the
moon
was
high
,
moved
his
oar
with
one
trembling
hand
,
and
with
the
other
crossed
himself
unceasingly
.
To
Folle‐Farine
it
bore
no
such
terror
.
The
unconscious
pantheism
breathed
into
her
earliest
thoughts
,
with
the
teachings
of
Phratos
,
made
her
see
a
nameless
mystical
and
always
wondrous
beauty
in
every
blade
of
grass
that
fed
on
the
dew
,
and
with
the
light
,
rejoiced
;
in
every
bare
brown
stone
that
flashed
to
gold
in
bright
brook
waters
,
under
a
tuft
of
weed
;
in
every
hillside
stream
that
leaping
and
laughing
sparkled
in
the
sun
;
in
every
wind
that
wailing
went
over
the
sickness
of
the
weary
world
.
For
such
a
temper
,
no
shape
of
the
day
or
the
night
,
no
mystery
of
life
or
of
death
can
have
terror
;
it
can
dread
nothing
,
because
every
created
thing
has
in
it
a
divine
life
and
an
eternal
mystery
.
As
she
and
the
boat
passed
out
into
the
loneliness
of
the
country
,
with
fitful
moon
gleams
to
light
its
passage
,
the
weather
and
the
stream
grew
wilder
yet
.
There
were
on
both
sides
strips
of
the
silvery
inland
sands
,
beds
of
tall
reeds
,
and
the
straight
stems
of
poplars
,
ghost‐like
in
the
gloom
.
The
tide
rushed
faster
;
the
winds
blew
more
strongly
from
the
north
;
the
boat
rocked
,
and
now
and
then
was
washed
with
water
,
till
its
edges
were
submerged
.
She
stood
up
in
it
,
and
gave
her
strength
to
its
guidance
;
it
was
all
that
she
could
do
to
keep
its
course
straight
,
and
steer
it
so
that
it
should
not
grate
upon
the
sand
,
nor
be
blown
into
the
tangles
of
the
river
reeds
.
For
herself
she
had
no
care
,
she
could
swim
like
any
cygnet
;
and
,
for
her
own
sport
,
had
spent
hours
in
water
at
all
seasons
.
But
she
knew
that
to
Claudis
Flamma
the
boat
was
an
honoured
treasure
,
since
to
replace
it
would
have
cost
him
many
a
hard‐earned
and
well
loved
piece
of
money
.
As
she
stood
thus
upright
in
the
little
tossing
vessel
,
against
the
darkness
and
the
winds
,
she
passed
the
solitary
building
;
it
had
been
placed
so
low
down
against
the
shore
that
its
front
walls
,
strong
of
hewn
stone
,
and
deep
bedded
in
the
soil
,
were
half
submerged
in
the
dense
growth
of
the
reeds
and
of
the
willowy
osiers
which
grew
up
and
brushed
the
great
arched
windows
of
its
haunted
hall
.
The
lower
half
of
one
of
the
seven
latticed
windows
had
been
blown
wide
open
;
a
broad
square
casement
,
braced
with
iron
bars
,
looking
out
upon
the
river
,
and
lighted
by
a
sickly
glimmer
of
the
moon
.
Her
boat
was
swayed
close
against
the
wall
,
in
a
sudden
lurch
,
caused
by
a
fiercer
gust
of
wind
and
higher
wave
of
the
strong
tide
;
the
rushes
entangled
it
;
it
grounded
on
the
sand
;
there
was
no
chance
,
she
knew
,
of
setting
it
afloat
again
without
her
leaving
it
to
gain
a
footing
on
the
sand
,
and
use
her
force
to
push
it
off
into
the
current
.
She
leaped
out
without
a
moment’s
thought
amongst
the
rushes
,
with
her
kirtle
girt
up
close
above
her
knees
.
She
sank
to
her
ankles
in
the
sand
,
and
stood
to
her
waist
in
the
water
.
But
she
was
almost
as
light
and
sure
of
foot
as
a
moor‐gull
,
when
it
lights
upon
the
treacherous
mosses
of
a
bog
;
and
standing
on
the
soaked
and
shelving
bank
,
she
thrust
herself
with
all
her
might
against
her
boat
,
dislodged
it
,
and
pushed
it
out
once
more
afloat
.
She
was
about
to
wade
to
it
and
spring
into
it
,
before
the
stream
had
time
to
move
it
farther
out
,
when
an
owl
flew
from
the
open
window
behind
her
.
Unconsciously
she
turned
her
head
to
look
whence
the
bird
had
come
.
She
saw
the
wide
dark
square
of
the
opened
casement
;
the
gleam
of
a
lamp
within
the
cavern‐like
vastness
of
the
vaulted
hall
.
Instinctively
she
paused
,
drew
closer
,
and
forgot
the
boat
.
The
stone
sills
of
the
seven
windows
were
level
with
the
topmost
sprays
of
the
tall
reeds
an
the
willowy
underwood
;
they
were
,
therefore
,
level
with
herself
.
She
saw
straight
in
;
saw
,
so
far
as
the
pale
uncertain
fusion
of
moon
and
lamp
rays
showed
them
,
the
height
and
width
of
this
legend‐haunted
place
;
vaulted
and
pillared
with
timber
and
with
stone
;
dim
and
lonely
as
a
cathedral
crypt
,
and
with
the
night‐birds
flying
to
and
fro
in
it
,
as
in
a
ruin
,
seeking
their
nests
in
its
rafters
and
in
the
capitals
of
its
columns
.
No
fear
,
but
a
great
awe
fell
upon
her
.
She
let
the
boat
drift
on
its
way
unheeded
;
and
stood
there
at
gaze
like
a
forest
doe
.
She
had
passed
this
grain
tower
with
every
day
or
night
that
she
had
gone
down
the
river
upon
the
errands
of
her
taskmaster
;
but
she
had
never
looked
within
it
once
,
holding
the
peasants’
stories
and
terrors
in
the
cold
scorn
of
an
intrepid
courage
.
Now
,
when
she
looked
,
she
for
the
first
time
believed
—
believed
that
the
dead
lived
and
gathered
there
.
White
,
shadowy
,
countless
shapes
loomed
through
the
gloom
,
all
motionless
,
all
noiseless
,
all
beautiful
,
with
the
serene
yet
terrible
loveliness
of
death
.
In
their
midst
burned
a
lamp
;
as
the
light
burns
night
and
day
in
the
tombs
of
the
kings
of
the
east
.
Her
colour
paled
,
her
breath
came
and
went
,
her
body
trembled
like
a
leaf
;
yet
she
was
not
afraid
.
An
ecstasy
of
surprise
and
faith
smote
the
dull
misery
of
her
life
.
She
saw
at
last
another
world
than
the
world
of
toil
in
which
she
had
laboured
without
sigh
and
without
hope
,
as
the
blinded
ox
laboured
in
the
brick‐field
,
treading
his
endless
circles
in
the
endless
dark
,
and
only
told
that
it
was
day
by
blows
.
She
had
no
fear
of
them
—
these
,
whom
she
deemed
the
dwellers
of
the
lands
beyond
the
sun
,
could
not
be
more
cruel
to
her
than
had
been
the
sons
of
men
.
She
yearned
to
them
,
longed
for
them
;
wondered
with
rapture
and
with
awe
if
these
were
the
messengers
of
her
father’s
kingdom
;
if
these
would
have
mercy
on
her
,
and
take
her
with
them
to
their
immortal
homes
—
whether
of
heaven
or
of
hell
,
what
mattered
it
?
It
was
enough
to
her
that
it
would
not
be
of
earth
.
She
raised
herself
upon
the
ledge
above
the
rushes
,
poised
herself
lightly
as
a
bird
,
and
with
deft
soundless
feet
dropped
safely
on
the
floor
within
,
and
stood
in
the
midst
of
that
enchanted
world
.
Stood
motionless
,
gazing
upwards
with
rapt
eyes
,
and
daring
barely
to
draw
breath
with
any
audible
sigh
,
lest
she
should
rouse
them
,
and
be
driven
from
their
presence
.
The
flame
of
the
lamp
,
and
the
moonlight
,
reflected
back
from
the
foam
of
the
risen
waters
,
shed
a
strange
,
pallid
,
shadowy
light
on
all
the
forms
around
her
.
“
They
are
the
dead
,
surely
,
”
she
thought
,
as
she
stood
amongst
them
;
and
she
stayed
there
with
her
arms
folded
on
her
breast
to
still
its
beating
,
lest
any
sound
should
anger
them
and
betray
her
;
a
thing
lower
than
the
dust
—
a
mortal
amidst
this
great
immortal
host
.
The
mists
and
the
shadows
between
her
eyes
and
them
parted
them
as
with
a
sea
of
dim
and
subtle
vapour
,
through
which
they
looked
white
and
implacable
as
a
summer
cloud
,
when
it
seems
to
lean
and
touch
the
edge
of
the
world
in
a
grey
,
quiet
dawn
.
They
were
but
the
creations
of
an
artist’s
classic
dreams
,
but
to
her
they
seemed
to
thrill
,
to
move
,
to
sigh
,
to
gaze
on
her
;
to
her
,
they
seemed
to
live
with
that
life
of
the
air
,
of
the
winds
,
of
the
stars
,
of
silence
and
solitude
,
and
all
the
nameless
liberties
of
death
,
of
which
she
dreamed
when
,
shunned
,
and
cursed
,
and
hungered
,
she
looked
up
to
the
skies
at
night
from
a
sleepless
bed
.
They
were
indeed
the
dead
:
the
dead
of
that
fair
time
when
all
the
earth
was
young
,
and
men
communed
with
their
deities
,
and
loved
them
,
and
were
not
afraid
.
When
their
gods
were
with
them
in
their
daily
lives
;
and
when
in
every
breeze
that
curled
the
sea
,
in
every
cloud
that
darkened
in
the
west
,
in
every
water‐course
that
leaped
and
sparkled
in
the
sacred
cedar
groves
,
in
every
bee‐sucked
blossom
of
wild
thyme
that
grew
purple
by
the
marble
temple
steps
,
the
breath
and
the
glance
of
the
gods
were
felt
,
the
footfall
and
the
voice
of
the
gods
were
heard
.
They
were
indeed
the
dead
:
the
dead
who
—
dying
earliest
,
whilst
yet
the
earth
was
young
enough
to
sorrow
for
its
heroic
lives
,
to
embalm
them
,
to
remember
them
,
and
to
count
them
worthy
of
lament
—
perished
in
their
bodies
,
but
lived
for
ever
immortal
in
the
traditions
of
the
world
.
From
every
space
of
the
sombre
chamber
some
one
of
these
gazed
on
her
through
the
mist
.
Here
the
silver
dove
of
Argos
winged
her
way
through
the
iron
jaws
of
the
dark
sea‐gates
;
here
the
white
Io
wandered
,
in
exile
and
unresting
,
for
ever
scourged
on
by
the
sting
in
her
flesh
,
as
a
man
by
the
genius
in
him
.
Here
the
glad
god
whom
all
the
woodlands
loved
,
played
in
the
moonlight
,
on
his
reeds
,
to
the
young
stags
that
couched
at
his
feet
in
golden
beds
of
daffodils
and
asphodel
.
Here
over
a
darkened
land
the
great
Demeter
moved
,
bereaved
and
childless
,
bidding
the
vine
be
barren
,
and
the
fig
trees
stay
fruitless
,
and
the
seed
of
the
sown
furrows
lie
strengthless
to
multiply
and
fill
the
sickles
with
the
ripe
increase
.
Here
the
women
of
Thebes
danced
upon
Cithæron
in
the
mad
moonless
nights
,
under
the
cedars
,
with
loose
hair
on
the
wind
,
and
bosoms
that
heaved
and
brake
through
their
girdles
of
fawnskin
.
Here
at
this
labour
,
in
Pheræ
,
the
sun‐god
toiled
as
a
slave
;
the
highest
wrought
as
the
lowest
;
while
wise
Hermes
stood
by
and
made
mirth
of
the
kingship
that
had
bartered
the
rod
of
dominion
for
the
mere
music
which
empty
air
could
make
in
a
hollow
reed
.
Here
,
too
,
the
brother
gods
stood
,
Hypnos
and
Oneiros
,
and
Thanatos
;
their
bowed
heads
crowned
with
the
poppy
and
moonwort
,
the
flowering
fern
,
and
the
amaranth
,
and
,
pressed
to
their
lips
,
a
white
rose
,
in
the
old
sweet
symbol
of
silence
;
fashioned
in
the
same
likeness
,
with
the
same
winged
feet
which
yet
fall
so
softly
,
that
no
human
ears
hear
their
coming
;
the
gods
that
most
of
all
have
pity
on
men
,
the
gods
of
the
Night
and
of
the
Grave
.
These
she
saw
;
not
plainly
,
but
through
the
wavering
shadows
,
and
the
halo
of
the
vapours
which
floated
,
dense
and
silvery
as
smoke
,
in
from
the
misty
river
.
Their
lips
were
dumb
,
and
for
her
they
had
no
name
nor
story
,
and
yet
they
spoke
to
her
with
familiar
voices
.
She
knew
them
,
she
knew
that
they
were
gods
,
and
yet
were
dead
;
and
in
the
eyes
of
the
forest‐god
,
who
piped
upon
his
reeds
,
she
saw
the
eyes
of
Phratos
look
on
her
with
their
tender
laughter
and
their
unforgotten
love
.
Just
so
had
he
looked
so
long
ago
—
so
long
!
—
in
the
deep
woods
at
moonrise
,
when
he
had
played
to
the
bounding
fawns
,
to
the
leaping
waters
,
to
the
listening
trees
,
to
the
sleeping
flowers
.
They
had
called
him
an
outcast
—
and
lo
!
—
she
found
him
a
god
.
She
sank
on
her
knees
,
and
buried
her
face
in
her
hands
,
and
wept
—
wept
with
grief
for
the
living
lost
for
ever
,
wept
with
joy
that
the
dead
for
ever
lived
.
Tears
had
rarely
sprung
to
her
proud
rebellious
eyes
;
she
deemed
them
human
things
,
things
of
weakness
and
of
shame
;
she
had
thrust
them
back
and
bitten
her
lips
till
the
blood
came
,
in
a
thousand
hours
of
pain
,
rather
than
that
men
should
be
able
to
see
them
and
exult
.
The
passion
had
its
way
for
once
,
and
spent
itself
,
and
passed
;
she
rose
trembling
and
pale
;
with
her
eyes
wet
and
dimmed
in
lustre
,
like
stars
that
shine
through
rain
.
She
looked
around
her
fearfully
.
She
thought
that
the
gods
might
rise
in
wrath
against
her
,
even
as
mortals
did
,
for
daring
to
be
weary
of
her
life
.
As
she
rose
,
she
saw
for
the
first
time
before
the
cold
hearth
the
body
of
a
man
.
It
was
stretched
straightly
out
on
the
stone
floor
;
the
chest
was
bare
;
upon
the
breast
the
right
hand
was
clenched
close
and
hard
;
the
limbs
were
in
profound
repose
;
the
head
was
lit
by
the
white
glimmer
from
the
moon
;
the
face
was
calm
and
colourless
,
and
full
of
sadness
.
In
the
dim
strange
light
it
looked
white
as
marble
,
colossal
as
a
statue
,
in
that
passionless
rest
,
that
dread
repose
.
Instinctively
she
drew
nearer
to
him
;
breathless
and
allured
she
bent
forward
and
looked
closer
on
his
face
.
He
was
a
god
,
like
all
the
rest
,
she
thought
;
but
dead
—
not
as
they
were
dead
,
with
eyes
that
still
rejoiced
in
the
light
of
cloudless
suns
,
and
with
lips
that
still
smiled
with
a
serene
benignity
and
an
eternal
love
,
—
but
dead
,
as
mortals
die
,
without
hope
,
without
release
,
with
their
breath
frozen
on
their
tired
lips
,
and
bound
on
their
hearts
eternally
the
burden
of
their
sin
and
woe
.
She
leaned
down
close
by
his
side
,
and
looked
on
him
—
sorrowful
,
because
,
he
alone
of
all
the
gods
was
stricken
there
,
and
he
alone
had
the
shadow
of
mortality
upon
him
.
Looking
thus
she
saw
that
his
hands
were
clenched
upon
his
chest
,
as
though
their
latest
effort
had
been
to
tear
the
bones
asunder
,
and
wrench
out
a
heart
that
ached
beneath
them
;
she
saw
that
this
was
not
a
divine
,
but
a
human
form
,
—
dead
indeed
as
the
rest
were
,
but
dead
by
a
man’s
death
of
assassination
,
or
disease
,
or
suicide
,
or
what
men
love
to
call
the
“
act
of
heaven
,
”
whereby
they
mean
the
self‐sown
fruits
of
their
own
faults
and
follies
.
Had
the
gods
slain
him
—
being
a
mortal
—
for
his
entrance
there
?
Marcellin
in
legends
had
told
of
her
of
such
things
.
He
was
human
;
with
a
human
beauty
;
which
yet
white
was
cold
and
golden
,
full
of
serenity
and
sadness
,
was
like
the
sun‐god’s
yonder
,
and
very
strange
to
her
whose
eyes
had
only
rested
on
the
sunburnt
,
pinched
,
and
rugged
faces
of
the
populace
around
her
.
That
beauty
allured
her
;
she
forgot
that
he
had
against
her
the
crime
of
that
humanity
which
she
hated
.
He
was
too
her
like
some
noble
forest
beast
,
some
splendid
bird
of
prey
,
struck
down
by
a
bolt
from
some
murderous
bow
,
strengthless
and
senseless
,
yet
majestic
even
in
its
fall
.
“
The
gods
slew
him
because
he
dared
to
be
too
like
to
themselves
,
”
she
thought
,
“
else
he
could
not
be
so
beautiful
,
—
he
,
—
only
a
man
,
and
dead
?
”
The
dreamy
intoxication
of
fancy
had
deadened
her
to
all
sense
of
time
or
fact
.
The
exaltation
of
nerve
and
brain
made
all
fantastic
phantasies
seem
possible
to
her
as
truth
.
Herself
,
she
was
strong
;
and
desolate
no
more
,
since
the
eyes
of
the
immortals
had
smiled
on
her
,
and
bade
her
welcome
there
;
and
she
felt
an
infinite
pity
on
him
,
inasmuch
as
with
all
his
likeness
to
them
he
yet
,
having
incurred
their
wrath
,
lay
helpless
there
as
any
broken
reed
.
She
bent
above
him
her
dark
rich
face
,
with
a
soft
compassion
on
it
;
she
stroked
the
pale
heavy
gold
of
his
hair
,
with
fingers
brown
and
lithe
,
but
infinitely
gentle
;
she
fanned
the
cold
pain
of
his
forehead
,
with
the
breath
of
her
rose‐like
mouth
;
she
touched
him
,
stroked
him
,
gazed
on
him
,
as
she
would
have
caressed
and
looked
on
the
velvet
hide
of
the
stag
,
the
dappled
plumage
of
the
hawk
,
the
white
leaf
of
the
lily
.
A
subtle
,
vague
pleasure
stole
on
her
,
a
sharp
sweet
sorrow
moved
her
,
—
for
he
was
beautiful
,
and
he
was
dead
.
“
If
they
would
give
him
back
his
life
?
”
she
thought
;
and
she
looked
for
the
glad
forest
god
playing
on
his
reed
amidst
the
amber
asphodels
,
he
who
had
the
smile
and
the
glance
of
Phratos
.
But
she
could
see
his
face
no
more
.
The
wind
rose
,
the
moon
was
hidden
,
all
was
dark
save
the
flicker
of
the
flame
of
the
lamp
;
the
storm
had
broken
and
the
rain
fell
:
she
saw
nothing
now
but
the
bowed
head
of
Thanatos
,
holding
the
rose
of
silence
to
his
lips
.
On
her
ear
there
seemed
to
steal
a
voice
from
the
darkness
,
saying
:
“
One
life
alone
can
ransom
another
.
Live
immortal
with
us
;
or
for
that
dead
man
—
perish
.
”
She
bowed
her
head
where
she
knelt
in
the
darkness
;
the
force
of
an
irresistible
fate
seemed
upon
her
;
that
sacrifice
which
is
at
once
the
delirium
and
divinity
of
her
sex
had
entered
into
her
.
She
was
so
lowly
a
thing
;
a
creature
so
loveless
and
cursed
;
the
gods
,
if
they
took
her
in
pity
,
would
soon
scorn
her
as
men
had
scorned
;
whilst
he
whom
they
had
slain
there
—
though
so
still
,
so
white
and
mute
,
so
powerless
,
—
he
looked
a
king
amongst
men
,
though
the
gods
for
his
daring
had
killed
him
.
“
Let
him
live
!
”
she
murmured
.
“
As
for
me
,
—
I
am
nothing
—
nothing
.
Let
me
die
as
the
Dust
dies
—
what
matter
?
”
The
wind
blew
the
flame
of
the
lamp
into
darkness
;
the
moon
still
shone
through
the
storm
on
to
the
face
of
Thanatos
.
He
alone
heard
.
He
—
the
only
friend
who
,
come
he
early
or
late
,
fails
no
living
thing
at
the
last
.
He
alone
remained
,
and
waited
for
her
:
he
,
whom
alone
of
all
the
gods
—
for
this
man’s
sake
—
she
chose
.
CHAPTER
III
.
WHEN
the
trance
of
her
delirious
imaginations
passed
,
they
left
her
tranquil
,
but
with
the
cold
of
death
seeming
to
pass
already
from
the
form
she
looked
on
into
hers
.
She
was
still
crouching
by
his
body
on
the
hearth
;
and
knew
what
she
had
chosen
,
and
did
not
repent
.
He
was
dead
still
;
—
or
so
she
thought
;
—
she
watched
him
with
dim
dreaming
eyes
,
watched
him
as
women
do
who
love
.
She
drew
the
fair
glistening
hair
through
her
hands
;
she
touched
the
closed
and
blue‐veined
eyelids
tenderly
;
she
laid
her
ear
against
his
heart
to
hearken
for
the
first
returning
pulses
of
the
life
she
had
brought
back
to
him
.
It
was
no
more
to
her
the
dead
body
of
a
man
,
unknown
,
unheeded
,
a
stranger
,
and
because
a
mortal
,
of
necessity
to
her
a
foe
.
It
was
a
nameless
wondrous
mystic
force
and
splendour
to
which
she
had
given
back
the
pulse
of
existence
,
the
light
of
day
;
which
was
no
more
the
gods’
,
nor
any
man’s
,
no
more
the
prey
of
death
,
nor
the
delight
of
love
;
but
hers
—
hers
—
shared
only
with
the
greatness
she
had
bought
for
him
.
Even
as
she
looked
on
him
she
felt
the
first
faint
flutter
in
his
heart
;
she
heard
the
first
faint
breath
upon
his
lips
.
His
eyes
unclosed
and
looked
straight
at
hers
,
without
reason
or
lustre
in
them
,
clouded
with
a
heavy
and
delirious
pain
.
“
To
die
—
of
hunger
—
like
a
rat
in
a
trap
!
”
he
muttered
in
his
throat
,
and
strove
to
rise
;
he
fell
back
,
senseless
,
striking
his
head
upon
the
stones
.
She
started
;
her
hands
ceased
to
wander
through
his
hair
,
and
touch
his
cold
lips
as
she
would
have
touched
the
cup
of
a
flower
;
she
rose
slowly
to
her
feet
.
She
had
heard
;
and
the
words
,
so
homely
and
so
familiar
in
the
lives
of
all
the
poor
,
pierced
the
wild
faiths
and
visions
of
her
heated
brain
,
as
a
ray
of
the
clear
daybreak
pierces
through
the
purple
smoke
from
altar
fires
of
sacrifice
.
The
words
were
so
terrible
,
and
yet
so
trite
;
they
cleft
the
mists
of
her
dreams
as
tempered
steel
cleaves
folds
of
gossamer
.
“
To
die
—
of
hunger
!
”
She
muttered
the
phrase
after
him
—
shaken
from
her
stupor
by
its
gaunt
and
common
truth
.
It
roused
her
to
the
consciousness
of
all
his
actual
needs
.
Her
heart
rebelled
even
against
her
newly
found
immortal
masters
,
since
,
being
in
wrath
,
they
could
not
strike
him
swiftly
with
their
vengeance
,
but
had
killed
him
thus
with
these
lingering
and
most
bitter
pangs
,
and
had
gathered
there
as
to
a
festival
to
see
him
die
.
As
she
stooped
above
him
,
she
could
discern
the
faint
earthy
cavernous
odour
,
which
comes
from
the
languid
lungs
and
empty
chests
of
one
who
has
long
fasted
,
almost
unto
death
.
She
had
known
that
famine
odour
many
a
time
ere
then
;
in
the
hut
of
Manon
Dax
,
and
by
the
hedge
rows
,
and
in
the
ditches
,
that
made
the
sick
beds
of
many
another
,
as
old
,
as
wretched
,
and
as
nobly
stubborn
against
alms
;
in
times
of
drought
or
in
inclement
winters
,
the
people
in
all
that
country
side
suffered
continually
from
the
hunger
torment
;
she
had
often
passed
by
men
and
women
,
and
children
,
crouching
in
black
and
wretched
cabins
,
or
lying
fever
stricken
on
the
cold
stony
fields
,
glad
to
gnaw
a
shred
of
sheepskin
,
or
suck
a
thorny
bramble
of
the
fields
to
quiet
the
gnawing
of
their
entrails
.
She
stood
still
beside
him
,
and
thought
.
All
light
had
died
;
the
night
was
black
with
storm
;
the
shadowy
shapes
were
gone
;
there
were
the
roar
of
the
rushing
river
,
and
the
tumult
of
the
winds
and
rains
upon
the
silence
;
all
she
saw
was
this
golden
head
;
this
colourless
face
;
this
lean
and
nerveless
hand
that
rested
on
the
feebly
beating
heart
;
—
these
she
saw
still
as
she
would
have
seen
the
white
outlines
of
a
statue
in
the
dark
.
He
moved
a
little
,
with
a
hollow
sigh
.
“
Bread
,
—
bread
,
—
bread
!
”
he
muttered
.
“
To
die
for
bread
!
—
”
At
the
words
,
all
the
quick
resource
and
self
reliance
which
the
hard
life
she
led
had
sharpened
and
strengthened
in
her
,
awoke
amidst
the
dreams
and
passions
,
and
meditations
of
her
mystical
faiths
,
and
her
poetic
ignorance
.
The
boldness
and
the
independence
of
her
nature
roused
themselves
;
she
had
prayed
for
him
to
the
gods
,
and
to
the
gods
given
herself
for
him
;
that
was
well
—
if
they
kept
their
faith
.
But
if
they
forsook
it
?
The
blood
rushed
back
to
her
heart
with
its
old
proud
current
;
alone
,
she
swore
to
herself
to
save
him
.
To
save
him
in
the
gods’
despite
.
In
the
street
that
day
,
she
had
found
the
half
of
a
roll
of
black
bread
.
It
had
lain
in
the
mud
,
none
claiming
it
:
a
sulky
lad
passed
it
in
scorn
,
a
beggar
with
gold
in
his
wallet
kicked
it
aside
with
his
crutch
;
she
took
it
and
put
it
by
for
her
supper
;
so
often
some
stripe
or
some
jibe
replaced
a
begrudged
meal
for
her
at
Flamma’s
board
.
That
was
all
she
had
.
A
crust
dry
as
a
bone
,
which
could
do
nothing
towards
saving
him
,
could
be
of
no
more
use
to
pass
those
clenched
teeth
,
and
warm
those
frozen
veins
,
than
so
much
of
the
wet
sand
gathered
up
from
the
river
shore
.
Neither
could
there
be
any
wood
,
which
,
if
brought
in
and
lit
,
would
burn
.
All
the
timber
was
green
and
full
of
sap
,
and
all
,
for
a
score
square
leagues
around
,
was
at
that
hour
drenched
with
water
.
She
knew
that
the
warmth
of
fire
to
dry
the
deadly
dampness
in
the
air
,
the
warmth
of
wine
to
quicken
the
chillness
and
the
torpor
of
the
reviving
life
,
were
what
were
wanted
beyond
all
other
things
.
She
had
seen
famine
in
all
its
stages
,
and
she
knew
the
needs
and
dangers
of
that
fell
disease
.
There
was
not
a
creature
in
all
the
world
,
who
would
have
given
her
so
much
as
a
loaf
or
a
faggot
;
even
if
the
thought
of
seeking
human
aid
had
ever
dawned
on
her
.
As
it
was
,
she
never
even
dreamed
of
it
;
every
human
hand
,
—
to
the
rosy
fist
of
the
smallest
and
fairest
child
,
—
was
always
clenched
against
her
;
she
would
have
sooner
asked
for
honey
from
a
lot
of
snakes
,
or
sought
a
bed
of
roses
in
a
swarm
of
wasps
,
than
have
begged
mercy
or
aid
at
any
human
hearth
.
She
knew
nothing
,
either
,
of
an
social
laws
that
might
have
made
such
need
as
this
,
a
public
care
on
public
alms
.
She
was
used
to
see
men
,
women
,
and
children
perishing
of
want
;
she
had
heard
people
curse
the
land
that
bore
,
and
would
not
nourish
,
them
.
She
was
habituated
to
work
hard
for
every
bit
or
drop
that
passed
her
lips
;
she
lived
amidst
multitudes
who
did
the
same
;
she
knew
nothing
of
any
public
succour
to
which
appeal
could
in
such
straits
be
made
.
If
bread
were
not
forthcoming
,
a
man
or
a
woman
had
to
die
for
lack
of
it
,
as
Manon
Dax
and
Marcellin
had
done
;
that
seemed
to
her
a
rule
of
fate
,
against
which
there
was
no
good
in
either
resistance
or
appeal
.
What
could
she
do
?
she
pondered
.
Whatever
she
would
do
,
she
knew
that
she
had
to
do
quickly
.
Yet
she
stood
irresolute
.
To
do
anything
,
she
had
to
stoop
herself
down
to
that
sin
to
which
no
suffering
or
privation
of
her
own
had
ever
tempted
her
.
In
a
vague
fierce
fashion
,
unholpen
and
untaught
,
she
hated
all
sin
.
All
quoted
it
as
her
only
birthright
;
all
told
her
that
she
was
imbued
with
it
body
and
soul
;
all
saw
it
in
her
slightest
acts
,
in
her
most
harmless
words
;
and
she
abhorred
this
,
the
one
gift
which
men
cast
to
her
as
her
only
heirloom
,
with
a
strong
scornful
loathing
which
stood
her
in
the
stead
of
virtue
.
With
an
instinctive
cynicism
which
moved
her
con‐
tinually
,
yet
to
which
she
could
have
given
no
name
,
she
had
loved
to
see
the
children
and
the
maidens
,
—
those
who
held
her
accursed
,
and
were
themselves
held
so
innocent
and
just
,
—
steal
the
ripe
cherries
from
the
stalk
,
pluck
the
forbidden
flowers
that
nodded
over
the
convent
walls
,
pierce
through
the
boundary
fence
to
reach
another’s
pear
,
speak
a
lie
softly
to
the
old
greyheaded
priest
,
and
lend
their
ripe
lips
to
a
soldier’s
rough
salute
,
whilst
she
,
the
daughter
of
hell
,
pointed
at
,
despised
,
shunned
as
a
leper
,
hunted
as
a
witch
,
—
kept
her
hands
soilless
and
her
lips
untouched
.
It
was
a
pride
to
her
,
to
say
in
her
teeth
,
“
I
am
stronger
than
they
,
”
when
she
saw
the
stolen
peach
in
their
hand
,
and
heard
the
lying
word
on
their
tongue
.
It
had
a
savage
sweetness
for
her
,
the
will
with
which
she
denied
herself
the
luxurious
fruit
that
,
unseen
,
she
could
have
reached
a
thousand
times
from
the
walls
when
her
throat
was
parched
and
her
body
empty
;
with
which
she
uttered
the
truth
,
and
the
truth
alone
,
though
it
brought
the
blows
of
the
cudgel
down
on
her
shoulders
;
with
which
she
struck
aside
in
disdain
,
the
insolent
eyes
,
and
mocking
mouths
of
the
youths
,
who
would
fain
have
taught
her
,
that
if
beggared
of
all
other
things
,
she
was
at
least
rich
in
form
and
hue
.
She
hated
sin
,
for
sin
seemed
to
her
only
a
human
word
for
utter
feebleness
;
she
had
never
sinned
for
herself
,
as
far
as
she
knew
;
yet
to
serve
this
man
,
on
whose
face
she
had
never
looked
before
that
night
,
she
was
ready
to
stoop
to
the
thing
which
she
abhorred
.
She
had
been
so
proud
of
her
freedom
for
all
those
frailties
of
passion
,
and
greed
,
and
self
pity
,
with
which
the
souls
of
the
maidens
around
her
were
haunted
;
—
so
proud
,
with
the
chaste
,
tameless
arrogance
of
the
women
of
her
race
,
that
was
bred
in
their
blood
,
and
taught
them
as
their
first
duty
,
by
the
oriental
and
jealous
laws
of
their
vengeful
and
indolent
masters
.
She
had
been
so
proud
!
—
yet
the
cleanliness
of
hand
and
heart
,
this
immunity
from
her
enemies’
weakness
,
this
independence
which
she
had
worn
as
a
buckler
of
proof
against
all
blows
,
which
she
had
girded
about
her
as
a
zone
of
purity
more
precious
than
gold
—
this
,
the
sole
treasure
she
had
,
she
was
about
to
surrender
for
the
sake
of
a
stranger
.
It
was
a
greater
gift
,
and
one
harder
to
give
,
than
this
mortal
life
she
had
offered
for
his
to
his
gods
.
As
she
kneeled
on
the
stone
floor
beside
him
,
her
heart
was
torn
with
a
mute
and
violent
struggle
;
her
bent
face
grew
dark
and
rigid
,
her
haughty
brows
knit
together
in
sadness
and
conflict
.
In
the
darkness
he
moved
a
little
;
he
was
unconscious
,
yet
ever
,
in
that
burning
stupor
,
one
remembrance
,
one
regret
,
remained
with
him
.
“
That
the
mind
of
a
man
can
be
killed
for
the
want
of
the
food
thrown
to
swine
!
”
he
muttered
drearily
,
in
the
one
gleam
of
reason
that
shone
through
the
delirium
of
his
brain
.
The
words
were
broken
,
disjointed
,
almost
inarticulate
;
but
they
stung
her
to
action
as
the
spur
stings
a
horse
.
She
started
erect
,
and
crossed
the
chamber
,
leapt
through
the
open
portion
of
the
casement
,
and
lighted
again
without
,
knee
deep
in
water
.
She
lost
her
footing
and
fell
,
entangled
in
the
rushes
;
but
she
rose
and
climbed
in
the
darkness
to
where
the
roots
of
an
oak
stump
stretched
into
the
stream
,
and
,
gaining
the
shore
,
ran
as
well
as
the
storm
and
the
obscurity
allowed
her
,
along
the
bank
,
straight
towards
Yprès
.
It
was
a
wild
and
bitter
night
;
the
rushing
of
the
foaming
river
went
by
her
all
the
way
;
the
path
was
flooded
;
she
was
up
to
her
ankles
in
water
at
every
step
,
and
was
often
forced
to
wade
through
channels
a
foot
deep
.
She
went
on
straight
towards
her
home
,
unconscious
of
cold
,
of
fatigue
,
of
her
wet
clinging
clothes
,
of
the
water
that
splashed
unseen
in
the
black
night
up
against
her
face
as
her
steps
sank
into
some
shaking
strip
of
marsh
,
some
brook
that
,
in
the
rising
of
the
river
,
ran
hissing
and
swelling
to
twice
its
common
height
.
All
she
was
sensible
of
was
of
one
inspiration
,
one
purpose
,
one
memory
that
seemed
to
give
her
the
wings
of
the
wind
,
and
yet
to
clog
her
feet
with
the
weight
of
lead
,
—
the
memory
of
that
white
and
senseless
face
,
lying
beneath
the
watch
of
the
cruel
gods
.
She
reached
Yprès
,
feeling
and
scenting
her
way
by
instinct
,
as
a
dog
does
,
all
through
the
tumult
of
the
air
and
against
the
force
of
the
driving
rains
.
She
met
no
living
creature
;
the
weather
was
too
bad
for
even
a
beggar
to
be
afoot
in
it
,
and
even
the
stray
and
homeless
beasts
had
sought
some
shelter
from
a
ruined
shed
or
crumbling
wall
.
As
softly
as
a
leaf
may
fall
she
unloosed
the
latch
of
the
orchard
,
stole
through
the
trees
,
and
took
her
way
in
an
impenetrable
gloom
,
with
the
swift
sure
flight
of
one
to
whom
the
place
had
long
been
as
familiar
by
night
as
day
.
The
uproar
of
wind
and
rain
would
have
muffled
the
loudest
tread
.
The
shutters
of
the
mill‐house
were
all
closed
;
it
was
quite
still
.
Flamma
and
his
serving
people
were
all
gone
to
their
beds
,
that
they
might
save
by
sleep
the
cost
of
wood
and
candle
.
She
passed
round
to
the
side
of
the
house
,
climbed
up
the
tough
network
of
a
tree
of
ivy
,
and
without
much
labour
loosed
the
fastenings
of
her
own
loft
window
,
and
entering
there
passed
through
the
loft
into
the
body
of
the
house
.
Opening
the
door
of
the
landing‐place
noiselessly
,
she
stole
down
the
staircase
,
making
no
more
sound
than
a
hare
makes
stealing
over
mosses
to
its
form
.
The
ever‐wakeful
lightly‐sleeping
ears
of
a
miser
were
near
at
hand
;
but
even
they
were
not
aroused
;
and
she
passed
down
unheard
.
She
went
hardily
,
fearlessly
,
her
mind
once
set
upon
the
errand
.
She
did
not
reason
with
herself
,
as
more
timorous
creatures
might
have
done
,
that
being
half
starved
,
and
paid
not
at
all
,
as
recompense
for
strong
and
continual
labour
,
she
was
but
about
to
take
a
just
due
withheld
,
a
fair
wage
long
overdue
.
She
only
resolved
to
take
what
another
needed
by
a
violence
which
she
had
never
employed
to
serve
her
own
needs
,
and
having
resolved
went
to
execute
her
resolution
with
the
unhesitating
dauntlessness
that
was
bred
in
her
,
flesh
and
bone
.
Knowing
all
the
turns
and
steps
of
the
obscure
passages
,
she
quickly
found
her
way
to
the
store
chambers
where
such
food
and
fuel
as
were
wanted
in
the
house
were
stored
.
The
latter
was
burnt
and
the
former
eaten
sparingly
and
grudgingly
,
but
the
store
of
both
was
at
this
season
of
the
year
fairly
abundant
.
It
had
more
than
once
happened
that
the
mill
had
been
cut
off
from
all
communication
with
the
outer
world
by
floods
that
had
reached
its
upper
casements
,
and
Claudis
Flamma
was
provided
against
any
such
accidents
;
the
more
abundantly
as
he
had
more
than
once
found
it
a
lucrative
matter
in
such
seasons
of
inundation
to
lower
provisions
from
his
roof
to
boats
floating
below
when
the
cotters
around
were
in
dire
need
and
ready
to
sell
their
very
souls
for
a
bag
of
rice
or
string
of
onions
.
Folle‐Farine
opened
the
shutter
of
the
store‐room
and
let
in
the
faint
grey
glimmer
from
the
clearing
skies
.
A
bat
which
had
been
resting
from
the
storm
among
the
rafters
fluttered
violently
against
the
lattice
;
a
sparrow
driven
down
the
chimney
in
the
hurricane
flew
up
from
one
of
the
shelves
with
a
twittering
outcry
.
She
paused
to
open
the
lattice
for
them
both
,
and
set
them
free
to
fly
forth
into
the
still
sleeping
world
;
then
she
took
an
old
rush
basket
that
hung
upon
a
nail
,
and
filled
it
with
the
best
of
such
homely
food
as
was
to
be
found
there
—
loaves
,
and
meats
,
and
rice
,
and
oil
,
and
a
flask
of
the
richest
wine
—
wine
of
the
south
,
of
the
hue
of
the
violet
,
sold
under
secrecy
at
a
high
charge
and
profit
.
That
done
,
she
tied
together
as
large
a
bundle
of
brushwood
and
of
faggots
as
she
could
push
through
the
window
,
which
was
broad
and
square
,
and
thrust
it
out
by
slow
degrees
;
put
her
basket
through
likewise
,
and
lowered
it
carefully
to
the
ground
;
she
followed
them
herself
with
the
agility
born
of
long
practice
,
and
dropped
on
the
grass
beneath
.
She
waited
but
to
close
and
refasten
the
shutter
from
without
,
then
threw
the
mass
of
faggots
on
her
shoulders
,
and
carrying
in
her
arms
the
osier
basket
,
took
her
backward
way
through
the
orchards
to
the
river
.
She
had
not
taken
either
bit
or
drop
for
her
own
use
.
She
was
well
used
to
carry
burdens
as
heavy
as
the
mules
bore
,
and
to
walk
under
them
unassisted
fro
many
leagues
to
the
hamlets
and
markets
round
about
.
But
even
her
strength
of
bronze
had
become
fatigued
;
she
felt
frozen
to
the
bone
;
her
clothes
were
saturated
with
water
,
and
her
limbs
were
chill
and
stiff
.
Yet
she
trudged
on
,
unblenching
and
unpausing
,
over
the
soaked
earth
,
and
through
the
swollen
water
and
the
reeds
,
keeping
always
by
the
side
of
the
stream
,
that
was
so
angry
in
the
darkness
;
by
the
side
of
the
grey
flooded
sands
,
and
the
rushes
that
were
blowing
with
a
sound
like
the
sea
.
She
met
no
living
creature
except
a
fox
,
who
rushed
between
her
feet
,
holding
in
its
mouth
a
screaming
chicken
.
Once
she
stumbled
and
struck
her
head
and
breast
with
a
dull
blow
against
a
pile
of
wood
which
,
in
the
furious
weather
,
was
unseen
by
her
.
It
stunned
her
for
the
instant
,
but
she
rallied
and
looked
up
with
eyes
as
used
to
pierce
the
deepest
gloom
as
any
goshawk’s
;
she
discerned
the
outline
of
the
Calvary
,
towering
high
and
weird‐like
above
the
edge
of
the
river
,
where
the
priests
and
people
had
placed
it
,
so
that
the
boatmen
could
abase
themselves
and
do
it
honour
as
they
passed
the
banks
.
The
lantern
on
the
cross
shone
far
across
the
stream
,
but
shed
no
light
upon
the
path
she
followed
.
At
its
foot
she
had
stumbled
and
been
bruised
upon
her
errand
of
mercy
;
the
reflection
of
its
rays
streamed
across
to
the
opposing
shore
,
and
gave
help
to
a
boat
load
of
smugglers
landing
stolen
tobacco
in
a
little
creek
.
She
recovered
herself
and
trudged
on
once
more
along
the
lonely
road
.
“
How
like
their
god
is
to
them
!
”
she
thought
:
the
wooden
crucifix
was
the
type
of
her
persecutors
;
of
those
who
flouted
and
mocked
her
,
who
flung
and
pierced
her
as
a
witch
;
who
cursed
her
because
she
was
not
of
their
people
.
The
cross
was
the
hatred
of
the
world
incarnated
to
her
;
it
was
in
Christ’s
name
that
Marcellin’s
corpse
had
been
cast
on
the
dung
and
in
the
ditch
;
it
was
in
Christ’s
name
that
the
women
had
avenged
on
her
the
pity
which
she
had
shown
to
Manon
Dax
;
it
was
in
Christ’s
name
that
Flamma
had
scourged
her
because
she
would
not
pass
rotten
figs
for
sweet
.
For
the
name
of
Christ
is
used
to
cover
every
crime
,
by
the
peasant
who
cheats
his
neighbour
of
a
copper
coin
,
as
by
the
sovereign
who
massacres
a
nation
for
a
throne
.
She
left
the
black
cross
reared
there
against
the
rushes
,
and
plodded
on
through
sand
and
rain
and
flood
,
bearing
her
load
:
in
Christ’s
name
they
would
have
seized
her
as
a
thief
.
The
storm
abated
a
little
,
and
every
now
and
then
a
gleam
of
moonlight
was
shed
upon
the
flooded
meadows
.
She
gained
the
base
of
the
tower
,
and
by
means
of
the
length
of
rope
let
,
by
degrees
,
the
firewood
and
the
basket
through
the
open
portion
of
the
window
on
to
the
floor
below
,
then
again
followed
them
herself
.
Her
heart
thrilled
as
she
entered
.
Her
first
glance
to
the
desolate
hearth
showed
her
that
the
hours
of
her
absence
had
brought
no
change
there
.
The
gods
had
not
kept
faith
with
her
,
they
had
not
raised
him
from
the
dead
.
“
They
have
left
it
all
to
me
,
”
she
thought
,
with
the
old
strange
sweet
yearning
in
her
heart
over
this
life
that
she
had
bought
with
her
own
.
She
first
flung
the
faggots
and
brushwood
on
the
hearth
,
and
set
them
on
fire
to
burn
,
fanned
by
the
breath
of
the
wind
.
Then
she
poured
out
a
little
of
the
wine
,
and
kneeled
down
by
him
,
and
forced
it
drop
by
drop
through
his
colourless
lips
,
raising
his
head
upon
her
as
she
kneeled
.
The
wine
was
pure
and
old
;
it
suffused
his
attenuated
frame
as
with
a
rush
of
new
blood
;
under
her
hand
his
heart
moved
with
firmer
and
quicker
movement
.
She
broke
bread
in
the
wine
and
put
the
soaked
morsels
to
his
mouth
as
softly
as
she
would
have
fed
some
little
shivering
bird
made
nestless
by
the
hurricane
.
He
was
unconscious
still
,
but
he
swallowed
what
she
held
to
him
,
without
knowing
what
he
did
;
a
slight
warmth
gradually
spread
over
his
limbs
;
a
strong
shudder
shook
him
.
His
eyes
looked
dully
at
her
through
a
film
of
exhaustion
and
of
sleep
.
“
J’avais
quelque
chose
là
!
”
he
muttered
,
incoherently
,
his
voice
rattling
in
his
hollow
chest
,
as
he
raised
himself
a
little
on
one
arm
.
“
J’avais
quelque
chose
là
!
”
and
with
a
sigh
he
fell
back
once
more
—
his
head
tossing
in
uneasiness
from
side
to
side
.
Amidst
the
heat
and
mists
of
his
aching
brain
,
one
thought
remained
with
him
—
that
he
had
created
things
greater
than
himself
,
and
that
he
died
like
a
dog
,
powerless
to
save
them
.
The
saddest
dying
words
that
the
air
ever
bare
on
its
breath
—
the
one
bitter
vain
regret
of
every
genius
that
the
common
herds
of
men
stamp
out
under
leaden
hoofs
,
as
they
slay
their
mad
cattle
or
their
drunken
mobs
—
stayed
on
the
blurred
confusion
of
his
mind
,
which
,
in
its
stupor
and
its
helplessness
,
still
knew
that
once
it
had
been
strong
to
create
—
that
once
it
had
been
clear
to
record
—
that
once
it
had
dreamed
the
dreams
that
save
men
from
the
life
of
the
swine
—
that
once
it
had
told
to
the
world
the
truth
divested
of
lies
,
—
and
that
none
had
seen
,
none
had
listened
to
,
none
had
believed
.
There
is
no
more
terrible
woe
upon
earth
than
the
woe
of
the
stricken
brain
,
which
remembers
the
days
of
its
strength
,
the
living
light
of
its
reason
,
the
sunrise
of
its
proud
intelligence
,
and
knows
that
these
have
passed
away
like
a
tale
that
is
told
;
like
a
year
that
is
spent
;
like
an
arrow
that
is
shot
to
the
stars
,
and
flies
aloft
,
and
falls
in
a
swamp
;
like
a
fruit
that
is
too
well
loved
of
the
sun
,
and
so
,
over‐soon
ripe
,
is
dropped
from
the
tree
and
forgot
on
the
grasses
,
dead
to
all
joys
of
the
dawn
