“Would you truly be happy?” Again her voice was without its impatience; again it trembled with tenderness.
A light in the eyes of the Breton answered.
The birds fluttered and beat their wings against the bars of their cages.
Evening was approaching. The cawing of the white-headed crows could now be heard contending for their roosts in the banians.
The light in the room mellowed, became a rose-saffron, while the wind of sundown blew in through an open window.
Suddenly the wicket in the screen was opened and the wife, leaning against the lintel, looked down at him.
With difficulty the Breton priest rose from his chair. A flush swept across his face, then pallor. He lifted his hand to the neck of his robe; a film came over his eyes.
For a moment the wife fluttered on the screen’s threshold, then came down and sat on a stool close by but with her back to him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE DELUGE FAMILY
In the phenomena of national life there are certain conditions that force men into such a labyrinthine existence that they resemble, in their bore and burrow, the teredo. These terebrants—human and otherwise—exist to destroy; hence their dignity. Sometimes, like the hymenoptera, they destroy to soar.