wife and child on him--the good Michel--and he said: 'It is the
home-trail, and I must get to my nest.' Poor soul, poor soul! I who carry
my life as a leaf in autumn for the west wind was saved, and he--!"

"We are on the same trail now, Monsieur?"

"See: how soft a night, and how goodly is the moon!"

"It is the same trail now as then, Monsieur?"

"And how like velvet are the shadows in the gorge there below--like
velvet-velvet."

"Like a pall. He travelled this trail, Monsieur?"

"I remember thy Fanchon that night--so small a child was she, with deep
brown eyes, a cloud of hair that waved about her head, and a face that
shone like spring. I have seen her but once since then, and yet thou
sayest thy Fanchon has now her great hour, that she brings forth?"

"Yes. In the morning she cried out to me twice, for I am not easy of
waking--shame to me--and said: 'Gustave, thou shalt go for the priest
over the hills, for my time is at hand, and I have seen the White Omen on
the wall.' The White Omen--you know, Monsieur?"

"What does such as she with the legend of the White Omen, Gustave?"

"Who can tell what is in the heart of a mother? Their eyes are not the
eyes of such as we."