depths of his being. I
let him pass.

* * * * *

I believed myself beautiful. Beauty is a promise which no woman has ever
kept. I have seen my features in the glass, but I have not looked for
the mission to which I was appointed. What human being ever perceives
that he wears a distinctive badge?

The wind redoubles in strength and howls in the face of the sky. The
rain-spout near the window is choking, the drops rap-tap-tap on the
pane: "What have you done? What have you done?"

Lord, I am looking myself in the face. While waiting for the light to
appear and the clouds to scatter, for the damp air to shine between the
drops of sunlight, for the good genius who must teach us to grow old,
for the inaccessible perfection for which I was built, I look and look
at myself....

* * * * *

I went to the window to watch the storm and smoothe my hair. Leaning
toward the mirror it was God I found.

God is there, I see Him approaching when I approach and smiling when I
smile, God who carries me and whom I carry, God palpitating with faith,
God who lowers His head....

I believe in myself.

XVI

I cannot sleep.

There's no good-bye to say, it is late, everything is ready, and yet I
am stifling in this empty room, which lives only through my sleeping son
and me.

But he sleeps....

I hardly recognize him when he sleeps, and I have to go close to him. He
fell asleep a moment ago and is lying exactly the way I placed him, with
his arm outstretched. Is there anything tenderer and frailer to behold
than this little rounded face with its fine veins and pearly curves?
Beneath his sleep and the warmth of his cheeks, life is working, and
what a hurry it is in!

I lean down closer, almost touching the fine down of gold on his
forehead, his velvety warmth, his scarcely perceptible breath. As
always, I feel both terrified and transported by this immense
littleness, and consumed by a longing to put my lips to him.... I draw
back: I must not wake him up.

* * * * *

I move away from the crib. The will to question the present which is
passing takes a stronger hold of me this evening than usual.

No, it is not to you I turn, my child.

The best in me, the true, God, and my soul do not concern you.

Perhaps I am too hasty in saying this. Perhaps I have paid too much
attention to the gulf between my generation and the old blind