"Here is a box. I must know when you are down, so I can follow. You will open the box. There are fire-flies in it; I shall see them and follow you."
She held my hand a moment.
"Now go," she murmured.
I went.
I remember only one thing about that descent: I was overcome with vexation when the rope stopped and I found myself, feet dangling, against the perfectly smooth wall.
"What is the little fool waiting for?" I said to myself. "I have been hung here for a quarter of an hour. Ah ... at last! Oh, here I am stopped again." Once or twice I thought I was reaching the ground, but it was only a projection from the rock. I had to give a quick shove with my foot.... Then, suddenly, I found myself seated on the ground. I stretched out my hands. Bushes.... A thorn pricked my finger. I was down.
Immediately I began to get nervous again.
I pulled out the cushion and slipped off the noose. With my good hand, I pulled the rope, holding it out five or six feet from the face of the mountain, and put my foot on it.
Then I took the little cardboard box from my pocket and opened it.
One after the other, three little luminous circles rose in the inky night. I saw them rise higher and higher against the rocky wall. Their pale rose aureols gleamed faintly. Then, one by one, they turned, disappeared.