“Love knows not distance; it hath no continent; its eyes are for the stars, its feet for the swords; it continueth, though an army lay waste the pasture; it comforteth when there are no medicines; it hath the relish of manna; and by it do men live in the desert.”
“But if it pass from a man, that which he loves, and he is left alone, Monsieur?”
“That which is loved may pass, but love hath no end.”
“Thou didst love my Fanchon’s father?”
“I prayed him not to go, for a storm was on, but there was the thought of wife and child on him—the good Michel—and he said: ‘It is the home-trail, and I must get to my nest.’ Poor soul, poor soul! I who carry my life as a leaf in autumn for the west wind was saved, and he—!”
“We are on the same trail now, Monsieur?”
“See: how soft a night, and how goodly is the moon!”
“It is the same trail now as then, Monsieur?”
“And how like velvet are the shadows in the gorge there below—like velvet-velvet.”
“Like a pall. He travelled this trail, Monsieur?”