"Wait a moment," resumed Mathieu; "I will let the light in."

He thereupon drew back one of the curtains, and a broad ray of yellow,
wintry sunshine illumined the dim room. "Ah! there's the sun! And it's
splendid weather--and Sunday too! I shall be able to take you out for a
little while with the children this afternoon."

Then Marianne called him to her, and, when he had seated himself on the
bed, took hold of his hand and said gayly: "Well, I hadn't been sleeping
either for the last twenty minutes; and I didn't move because I wanted
you to lie in bed a little late, as it's Sunday. How amusing to think
that we were afraid of waking one another when we both had our eyes wide
open!"

"Oh!" said he, "I was so happy to think you were sleeping. My one delight
on Sundays now is to remain in this room all the morning, and spend the
whole day with you and the children." Then he uttered a cry of surprise
and remorse: "Why! I haven't kissed you yet."

She had raised herself on her pillows, and he gave her an eager clasp. In
the stream of bright sunshine which gilded the bed she herself looked
radiant with health and strength and hope. Never had her heavy brown
tresses flowed down more abundantly, never had her big eyes smiled with
gayer courage. And sturdy and healthful as she was, with her face all
kindliness and love, she looked like the very personification of
Fruitfulness, the good goddess with dazzling skin and perfect flesh, of
sovereign dignity.

They remained for a moment clasped together in the golden sunshine which
enveloped them with radiance. Then Mathieu pulled up Marianne's pillows,