ow the time has passed, or how long it is, whether
years or days, that I have been in Semur with those who are now there;
for the light did not vary--there was no night or day. All I know is
that suddenly, on awakening from a sleep (for the wonder was that I
could sleep, sometimes sitting on the Cathedral steps, sometimes in my
own house; where sometimes also I lingered and searched about for the
crusts that Leocadie had left), I found the whole world full of sound.
They sang going in bands about the streets; they talked to each other
as they went along every way. From the houses, all open, where everyone
could go who would, there came the soft chiming of those voices. And at
first every sound was full of gladness and hope. The song they sang
first was like this: 'Send us, send us to our father's house. Many are
our brethren, many and dear. They have forgotten, forgotten, forgotten!
But when we speak, then will they hear.' And the others answered: 'We
have come, we have come to the house of our fathers. Sweet are the
homes, the homes we were born in. As we remember, so will they remember.
When we speak, when we speak, they will hear.' Do not think that these
were the words they sang; but it was like this. And as they sang there
was joy and expectation everywhere. It was more beautiful than any of
our music, for it was full of desire and longing, yet hope and gladness;
whereas among us, where there is longing, it is always sad. Later a
great singer, I know not who he was, one going past as on a majestic
soft wind, sang another song, of which I shall tell you by and by. I do
not think he was one of them. They came out to the windows, to the
doors, into all the streets and byways to hear him as he went past.

M. le Maire will, however, be good enough to remark that I did not
understand all that I heard. In the middle of a phrase, in a word half
breathed, a sudden barrier would rise. For a time I laboured after their
meaning, trying hard and vainly to understand; but afterwards I
perceived that only when they spoke of Semur, of you who were gone
forth, and of what was being done, could I make it out. At first this
made me only more eager to hear; but when thought came, then I perceived
that of all my longing nothing was satisfied. Though I was alone with
the unseen, I comprehended it not; only when it touched upon what I
knew, then I understood.

At first all went well. Those who were in the streets, and at the doors
and w