g Pierre's attention to her.
But the little girl's gaze passed over her head and suddenly changed to
fright. And hiding her face in her hands the child vanished.

"What is the matter with her?" asked Luce.

But Pierre did not look.

They entered. Above their heads the dove was cooing. Last noise from
outside. The voices of Paris were quenched. The fresh air ceased. The
hangings of the organ, the lofty vaultings, the curtain of stones and
sounds parted them from the world.

They installed themselves in one of the side aisles between the second
and the third chapel on the left as you enter. In the hollow of a pier
both of them crouched, seated on some steps, hidden from the rest of the
assembly. Turning their backs to the choir, on raising their eyes they
saw the summit of the altar, the crucifix and the stained windows of a
lateral chapel. The beautiful old chants wept out their pious
melancholy. They were holding hands, the two little pagans, before the
Great Friend, in the church all swathed in mourning. And both of them at
the same time murmured in a low voice:

"Great Friend, before your face I take him, I take her. Unite us! You
see our hearts."

And their fingers remained joined and interlaced like the straw of a
basket. They were one single flesh which the waves of music passed
through with their shivering notes. They took to dreaming, as if they
lay in the same bed.

Luce saw again in her thought that little girl with reddish hair. And
behold it seemed to her that she recalled how she had seen her before in
a dream the past night. She could not reach the point of knowing whether
that was actually true, or if she were projecting the vision of the
present back to the past slumber. Then, weary of the effort, her
thoughts allowed themselves to float.

Pierre pondered over the days of his short, expended life. The lark that
rises from the misty plain to reach the sun.... How far it is! How high
it is! Will it ever be reached?... The fog thickens. There is no earth
any more, there are no heavens any more. And strength gives out....
Suddenly, while beneath the vault of the choir a Gregorian _vocalise_
trickled down, the jubilant song gushed forth, and out from the shadows
emerges the little shivering form of the lark that swims on the sea of
light without shore....

A pressure of their fingers recalled to them that they were swimming
together. They found themselves again in the darkness of the church,
closel