Antoine and Lise were still slowly approaching. The evening breeze which
rose from the great city, where all was yet heat and sunshine, brought
them a bath of life. If the young man had chosen that spot, with its
splendid horizon, open to the full air which wafted all the germs of
life, it was doubtless because he felt that nowhere else could he instil
more vitality, more soul, more strength into her. And love had been
created by love. He had found her asleep, benumbed, without power of
motion or intellect, and he had awakened her, kindled life in her, loved
her, that he might be loved by her in return. She was his work, she was
part of himself.

"So you no longer feel tired, little one?" said Jahan.

She smiled divinely. "Oh! no, it's so pleasant, so beautiful, to walk
straight on like this. . . . All I desire is to go on for ever and ever
with Antoine."

The others laughed, and Jahan exclaimed in his good-natured way: "Let us
hope that he won't take you so far. You've reached your destination now,
and I shan't be the one to prevent you from being happy."

Antoine was already standing before the figure of Justice, to which the
falling twilight seemed to impart a quiver of life. "Oh! how divinely
simple, how divinely beautiful!" said he.

For his own part he had lately finished a new wood engraving, which
depicted Lise holding a book in her hand, an engraving instinct with
truth and emotion, showing her awakened to intelligence and love. And
this time he had achieved his desire, making no preliminary drawing, but
tackling the block with his graver, straight away, in presence of his