And she knelt down. I could not help noticing the beautiful and
easy manner in which this Christian woman fell upon her knees,
leaving the folds of her robe to spread themselves at random about
her. I had never before seen any lady kneel down with such frankness
and such forgetfulness of self, except two fair Polish exiles, one
evening long ago, in a deserted church in Paris.

This image passed like a flash; and I saw only the sloping stone
on which was graven the name of Clementine. What I then felt was
something so deep and vague that only the sound of some rich music
could convey the idea of it. I seemed to hear instruments of
celestial sweetness make harmony in my old heart. With the solemn
accords of a funeral chant there seemed to mingle the subdued
melody of a song of love; for my soul blended into one feeling the
grave sadness of the present with the familiar graces of the past.

I cannot tell whether we had remained a long time at the tomb of
Clementine before Madame de Gabry arose. We passed through the
cemetery again without speaking to each other. Only when we found
ourselves among the living once more did I feel able to speak.

"While following you there," I said to Madame de Gabry, "I could
not help thinking of those angels with whom we are said to meet on
the mysterious confines of life and death. That tomb you led me
to, of which I knew nothing--as I know nothing, or scarcely
anything, concerning her whom it covers--brought back to me emotions
which were unique in my life, and which seem in the dullness of that
life like some light gleaming upon a dark road. The light recedes
farther and farther away as the journey lengthens; I have now almost
reached the bottom of the last slope; and, nevertheless, each time