"
The fresh light of day returned, ever young and new, untouched by the
stains of men which the sun drinks up like a morning mist.
Madame Clerambault woke, and when she saw her husband with open eyes,
she thought that he too had just waked up.
"You had a good sleep," said she. "I don't think you stirred all night
long." He did not contradict her, but thought of the vast distances he
had traversed in the spirit, that fiery bird that flies through the
night.... But feeling that he had come back to earth, he got up.
At the same hour another man rose, who had also passed a sleepless
night, who had also evoked his dead son, and thought of Clerambault.
whom he did not know, with fierce hatred.
A letter came from Rosine by the first mail, containing a secret that
Clerambault had guessed long ago. Daniel had spoken to his parents,
and the marriage would take place the next time he came home from the
front. She went through the form of asking the consent of her father
and mother, but she knew that her wishes were theirs. Her letter
radiated happiness and a triumphant security that nothing could shake.
The sad riddle of the agonised world had found an answer, and in the
absorption of her young love the universal suffering; did not seem too
high a price for the flower that bloomed for her on this bloody stem.
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