imagination was urging me to undertake, a pretty cry, the cry of a
woman issuing refreshed and joyous from a bath, rose above the murmur
of the rippling fringes as their flux and reflux marked a white line
along the shore. Hearing that note as it gushed from a soul, I fancied
I saw among the rocks the foot of an angel, who with outspread wings
cried out to me, "Thou shalt succeed!" I came down radiant,
light-hearted; I bounded like a pebble rolling down a rapid slope.
When she saw me, she said,--

"What is it?"

I did not answer; my eyes were moist. The night before, Pauline had
understood my sorrows, as she now understood my joy, with the magical
sensitiveness of a harp that obeys the variations of the atmosphere.
Human life has glorious moments. Together we walked in silence along
the beach. The sky was cloudless, the sea without a ripple; others
might have thought them merely two blue surfaces, the one above the
other, but we--we who heard without the need of words, we who could
evoke between these two infinitudes the illusions that nourish youth,
--we pressed each other's hands at every change in the sheet of water
or the sheets of air, for we took those slight phenomena as the
visible translation of our double thought. Who has never tasted in
wedded love that moment of illimitable joy when the soul seems freed
from the trammels of flesh, and finds itself restored, as it were, to
the world whence it came? Are there not hours when feelings clasp each
other and fly upward, like children taking hands and running, they
scarce know why? It was thus we went along.

At the moment when the village roofs began to show like a faint gray
line on the horizon, we met a fisherman, a poor man returning to