them frail shape and sweetness--and life. I remember, too, a gaunt
house, scorching in the sun, and a window which flashed and then shut!
The window stayed shut, like a slab. All the world was silent; and
that splendid living being was walled up there. And last, I have
recollection of an evening when, in the bluish and dark green and
chalky landscape of the town and its rounded gardens, I saw that window
lighted up. A narrow glimmer of rose and gold was enframed there, and
I could distinguish, leaning on the sill that overhung the town, in the
heart of that resplendence, a feminine form which stirred before my
eyes in inaccessible forbearance. Long did I watch with shaking knees
that window dawning upon space, as the shepherd watches the rising of
Venus. That evening, when I had come in and was alone for a
moment--Marie was busy below in the kitchen--alone in our unattractive
room, I retired to the starry window, beset by immense thoughts. These
spaces, these separations, these incalculable durations--they all
reduce us to dust, they all have a sort of fearful splendor from which
we seek defense in our hiding.

* * * * * *

I have not retained a definite recollection of a period of jealousy
from which I suffered for a year. From certain facts, certain profound
changes of mood in Marie, it seemed to me that there was some one
between her and me. But beyond vague symptoms and these terrible
reflections on her, I never knew anything. The truth, everywhere
around me, was only a phantom of truth. I experienced acute internal
wounds of humiliation and shame, of rebellion! I struggled feebly, as
well as I could, against a mystery too great for me, and then my
suspicions wore themselves out. I fled from the nightmare, and by a
strong effort I forgot it. Perhaps my imputations had no basis; but it