uncurled their downy heads. The air was sweet, sweet, with the smell
of morning; was the whole world new since last night?

Suddenly from the road near by (for he had gone round in a circle, and
the wooded hollow where he lay was out of sight but not out of hearing
of the country road which skirted the woods for many miles), from the
road near by came the sound of voices,--men's voices, which fell
strange and harsh on his ears, open for the first time to the music of
the world, and still ringing with the morning hymn of joy. What were
these harsh voices saying?

"They think she'll live now?"

"Yes, she'll pull through, unless she frets herself bad again about
Jacques. Nobody'd heerd a word of him when I come away."

"Been out all night, has he?"

"Yes! went away without saying anything to her or anybody, far as I can
make out. Been gone since yesterday afternoon, and some say--" The
voices died away, and then the footsteps, and silence fell once more.




CHAPTER XI.

VITA NUOVA.

De Arthenay never knew how he reached home that day. The spot where he