hill, and the smell of burning fir and camphire wood filtered through the
air with a sleepy sweetness. So delicate and faint between the quilts lay
the young mother, the little Fanchon, a shining wonder still in her face,
and the exquisite touch of birth on her--for when a child is born the
mother also is born again. So still she lay until one who gave her into
the world stooped, and drawing open the linen at her breast, nestled a
little life there, which presently gave a tiny cry, the first since it
came forth. Then Fanchon's arms drew up, and, with eyes all tenderly
burning, she clasped the babe to her breast, and as silk breast touched
silk cheek, there sprang up in her the delight and knowledge that the
doom of the White Omen was not for herself. Then she called the child by
its father's name, and said into the distance: "Gustave, Gustave, come
back!"

And the mother of Fanchon, remembering one night so many years before,
said, under her breath: "Michel, Michel, thou art gone so long!"

With their speaking, Gustave and the priest entered on them; and Fanchon
crying out for joy, said:

"Kiss thy child--thy little Gustave, my husband." Then, to the priest:

"Last night I saw the White Omen, mon pere; and one could not die, nor
let the child die, without a blessing. But we shall both live now."

The priest blessed all, and long time he talked with the wife of the lost
Michel. When he rose to go to bed she said to him: "The journey has been
too long, mon pere. Your face is pale and you tremble. Youth has no
patience. Gustave hurried you."