tarting at the dark bottom he would ascend the ladder and begin life
over again, life, the only paradise there is, the bouquet of nature.
He would make beauty beautiful. He would make eternity over again with
his voice and his song. And clasping the new-born infant close, she
looked at all the sunlight she had given the world. Her arms quivered
like wings. She dreamed in words of fondling. She fascinated all the
passersby that looked at her. And the setting sun bathed her neck and
head in a rosy reflection. She was like a great rose that opens its
heart to the whole world."

The poet seemed to be searching for something, to be seeing things, and
believing infinitely. He was in another world where everything we see
is true and everything we say is unforgettable.

Amy was still on her knees with eyes upraised to his. She was all
attention, filled with it like a precious vase.

"But her smile," he went on, "was not only in wonder about the future.
There was also something tragic in it, which pierced my heart. I
understood it perfectly. She adored life, but she detested men and was
afraid of them, always on account of the child. She already disputed
over him with the living, although he himself was as yet scarcely among
the living. She defied them with her smile. She seemed to say to
them, 'He will live in spite of you, he will use you, he will subdue
you either to dominate you or to be loved by you. He is already
braving you with his tiny breath, this little one that I am holding in
my maternal grasp.' She was terrible. At first, I had seen her as an
angel of goodness. Now, although she had not changed, she was like an
angel of mercilessness and vengeance. I saw a sort of hatred for those
who would trouble him distort her face, resplendent with superhuman
maternity. Her cruel heart was full of one heart only. It foresaw sin
and shame. It hated men and settled accounts with them like a
destroying angel. She was the mother with fearful nails, standing
erect, and laughing with a torn mouth."

Amy gazed at her lover in the moonlight. It seemed to me that her
looks and his words mingled.

"I come back as I always do to the greatness of mankind's curse, and I
repeat it with the monotony of those who are always right--oh, without
God, without a harbour, without enough rags to cover us, all we have,
standing erect on the land of the dead, is the rebellion of our smile,
the rebellion of being gay when d