The whole scene—black trees, mountains, stars—shows through a mist of oncoming sleep and has the appearance of some unearthly vision. The whole riddle of the universe seems to be out there in the darkness; the answer is there too, just behind the veil; only just behind——
One—two—three—four——eleven o'clock! The big church in the Market Place strikes the hour with that particularly solemn note of a clock striking in a sleeping town.
"Hour for rest, hour for rest," it seems to admonish the wakeful few.
Over all things Night and Peace spread wide their wings——
CHAPTER XXIV
ACROSS THE AGES
"Pas de chantar m'es pres talens,
Farai un vers don sui dolens,
Non serai mais obediens
De Peigtau ni de Lemozi.