our soul?"

The words flowed on following the ancient grooves of sermons, but the
loving voice thrilled us. It floated through the dim atmosphere into our
consciousness, holding us as in a dream, dovelike and soothing.

My eyes trailed to the delicate bride kneeling beside a great cracked
column, and I thought of the tiny blossom again by the road, and of
those stretches without the town, no longer gray, but brushed with new
color. I saw the daisies and the grasses waving out on No Man's Land:
like heralding banners of the triumph march they waved, leading out of
sight beyond the horizon. And as the priest talked, my heart throbbed
its own silent canticle:

"Joy in the new dawned day, and in peace-awakened fields. Hope of the
flower that blooms again. Faith in the unfolding of petals, gently,
forever, and in season."

"_Soyez loué, Seigneur!_" the voice deepened and concluded.

Decisively, now, burst forth the reedlike chords of music. A wave of
movement throughout the crowd. And the bowed form trembled a moment
within its sheathing veil, against the cold stone pillar.




LITTLE GRAINS OF SAND