the great groves
diminished into sparse, miserable lichens. From the murky abyss came an
icy breath; he saw it in the distance, he walked without escape toward
its gorge. The fields of dreams with their sunlit heights which once
bounded the horizon, were left behind and it was impossible to return.
In this path no one retraced his steps.

He had wasted half his life, struggling for wealth and fame, hoping
sometimes to receive their revenues in the pleasures of love. Die! Who
thought of that? Then it was a remote, unmeaning threat. He believed
that he was provided with a mission by Providence. Death would take no
liberties with him, would not come till his work was finished. He still
had many things to do. Well, all was done now; human desires did not
exist for him. He had everything. No longer did fanciful towers rise
before his steps, for him to assault. On the horizon, free from
obstacles, appeared the great forgotten,--Death.

He did not want to see it. There was still a long journey on that road
which might grow longer and longer, according to the strength of the
traveler, and his legs were still strong.

But, ah, to walk, walk, year after year, with his gaze fixed on that
murky abyss, contemplating it always at the edge of the horizon, unable
to escape for an instant the certainty that it was there, was a
superhuman torture which would force him to hurry his steps, to run in
order to reach the end as soon as possible. Oh, for deceitful clouds
which might veil the horizon, concealing the reality which embitters our
bread, which casts its shadows over our souls and makes us curse the
futility of our birth! Oh, for lying, pleasant illusions to make a
paradise rise from the desert shadows of the last journey! Oh, for
dreams!

And in his mind the poor master enlarged the last fancy of his desire;
he connected with the beloved likeness of his dead wife all the flights
of his imagination, longing to infuse into it new life with a part of
his own. He piled up by handfuls the clay of the past, the mass of
memory, to make it greater that it might occupy the whole way, shut off
the horizon like a huge hill, hide till the last moment the murky abyss
which ended the journey.

V

Renovales' behavior was a source of surprise and even scandal for all
his friends.

The Countess of Alberca took especial care to let every one know that
her only relation with the painter was a friendship which grew
constantly colder