possessed of the dream that could never be realized. For a long time
they had not been able to approach the heavenly lambs whose white
eyelashes winked in the green light. And as none of these animals ever
died, they could no longer lie in wait for the body which the shepherd
threw to the eternal laughter of the torrent.

And the wolves were resigned. Their fur, bald as the rock, was
pitiable. A sort of miserable grandeur reigned in this strange abode.
One felt that this destitution was so tragic and so inexorable that
one would have tenderly kissed the forehead of these poor flesh-eating
beasts even had one surprised them in slaying the lambs. The beauty
of this Paradise in which the friend of Francis now found his home was
that of desolation and hopeless despair.

And beyond this region the heaven of the beasts stretched on to
infinity.




BOOK III


As for Rabbit, he had prudently taken flight at sight of the heavenly
pack of hounds. While Francis had remained near him he had trusted in
Francis. But now, even though he was in the abode of the Blessed,
his distrust which was as natural to him as to the suspicious peasant
gained the upper hand again. And since he did not yet feel himself
entirely at home in this Paradise, tasting neither perfect security,
nor the thrill of familiar danger against which he could battle,