only smile his crooked smile — there was little left to
Jouse these days save that crooked smile wherewith
to show courage. And as Marie watched him, her
mind must slip back to the evening when she had
cried out in her travail on that bed that had witnessed
the coming of death many times, but also the coming
of life — her life, Jouse's life, made one in Christophe.
Turning abruptly she moved to the door: 'I
will go and prepare some coffee/ she told them.
Loup hurried in. He was wearing his nightshirt
and his monkeyish face was blotched and angry:
'Boudieu, I thought that the house was on fire! What
hour is this to arrive?3 he began. Then he realized
how it was and fell silent.
And now down the stairs came a soft, quick padding,
and suddenly Anfos was standing among them,
and Anfos was wringing his great red hands: 'Master!3
he cried out, 'Where are you, my master?'
Christophe went to him: I am here . . . always
here.'
But Anfos clung with great strength to his arm:
'Master, poor Anfos cannot fly any more — farther
and farther and up . . . up . . -up! And, master,
Anfos cannot see any more ... all is darkness . . .
poor Anfos no longer sees the light. Lay your hands
on his eyes and tell him to see.3
'Surely I will tell him to see/ consoled Ghristophe,
and he laid a hand over the tightly closed lids.
*Ai! ai! there is still no light. . / wailed Anfos.
At that moment Marie re-entered the room: cHe
sees very well/ she whispered to Christophe, CI cannot
comprehend what he means — however, it is good that
at last he has spoken.3
§6
The hours alternately raced and stood still. Nothing
seemed so important in life as time; nothing seemed
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