IV


And it was thus that, the other day, before his illness, I saw my little
Pelléas sitting at the foot of my writing-table, his tail carefully
folded under his paws, his head a little on one side, the better to
question me, at once attentive and tranquil, as a saint should be in the
presence of God. He was happy with the happiness which we, perhaps,
shall never know, since it sprang from the smile and the approval of a
life incomparably higher than his own. He was there, studying, drinking
in all my looks; and he replied to them gravely, as from equal to equal,
to inform me, no doubt, that, at least through the eyes the most
immaterial organ that transformed into affectionate intelligence the
light which we enjoyed, he knew that he was saying to me all that love
should say. And, when I saw him thus, young, ardent and believing,
bringing me, in some wise, from the depths of unwearied nature, quite
fresh news of life and trusting and wonderstruck, as though he had been
the first of his race that came to inaugurate the earth and as though we
were still in the first days of the world's existence, I envied the
gladness of his certainty, compared it with the destiny of man, still
plunging on every side into darkness, and said to myself that the dog
who meets with a good master is the happier of the two.