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took a very narrow path contrived between the tombs。 Finally； halting
before a plain slab； she said to me；
〃It is here。〃
And she knelt down。 I could not help noticing the beautiful and easy
manner in which this Christian woman fell upon her knees； leaving the
folds of her robe to spread themselves at random about her。 I had never
before seen any lady kneel down with such frankness and such
forgetfulness of self； except two fair Polish exiles； one evening long ago；
in a deserted church in Paris。
This image passed like a flash； and I saw only the sloping stone on
which was graven the name of Clementine。 What I then felt was
something so deep and vague that only the sound of some rich music
could convey the idea of it。 I seemed to hear instruments of celestial
sweetness make harmony in my old heart。 With the solemn accords of a
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funeral chant there seemed to mingle the subdued melody of a song of
love； for my soul blended into one feeling the grave sadness of the present
with the familiar graces of the past。
I cannot tell whether we had remained a long time at the tomb of
Clementine before Madame de Gabry arose。 We passed through the
cemetery again without speaking to each other。 Only when we found
ourselves among the living once more did I feel able to speak。
〃While following you there；〃 I said to Madame de Gabry； 〃I could not
help thinking of those angels with whom we are said to meet on the
mysterious confines of life and death。 That tomb you led me to； of which I
knew nothingas I know nothing； or scarcely anything； concerning her
whom it coversbrought back to me emotions which were unique in my
life； and which seem in the dullness of that life like some light gleaming
upon a dark road。 The light recedes farther and farther away as the journey
lengthens； I have now almost reached the bottom of the last slope； and；
nevertheless； each time I turn to look back I see the glow as bright as ever。
〃You； Madame； who knew Clementine as a young wife and mother
after her hair had become grey； you cannot imagine her as I see her still； a
young fair girl； all pink and white。 Since you have been so kind as to be
my guide； dear Madame； I ought to tell you what feelings were awakened
in me by the sight of that grave to which you led me。 Memories throng
back upon me。 I feel myself like some old gnarled and mossy oak which
awakens a nestling world of birds by shaking its branches。 Unfortunately
the song my birds sing is old as the world； and can amuse no one but
myself。〃
〃Tell me your souvenirs；〃 said Madame de Gabry。 〃I cannot read your
books； because they are written only for scholars； but I like very much to
have you talk to me； because you know how to give interest to the most
ordinary things in life。 And talk to me just as you would talk to an old
woman。 This morning I found three grey threads in my hair。〃
〃Let them come without regret； Madame；〃 I replied。 〃Time deals
gently only with those who take it gently。 And when in some years more
you will have a silvery fringe under your black fillet； you will be reclothed
with a new beauty； less vivid but more touching than the first； and you will
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find your husband admiring your grey tresses as much as he did that black
curl which you gave him when about to be married； and which he
preserves in a locket as a thing sacred。。。。 These boulevards are broad and
very quiet。 We can talk at our ease as we walk along。 I will tell you； to
begin with； how I first made the acquaintance of Clementine's father。 But
you must not expect anything extraordinary； or anything even remarkable；
you would be greatly deceived。
〃Monsieur de Lessay used to live in the second storey of an old house
in the Avenue de l'Observatoire； having a stuccoed front； ornamented with
antique busts； and a large unkept garden attached to it。 That facade and
that garden were the first images my child…eyes perceived； and they will
be the last； no doubt； which I still see through my closed eyelids when the
Inevitable Day comes。 For it was in that house that I was born； it was in
that garden I first learned； while playing； to feel and know some particles
of this old universe。 Magical hours！sacred hours！when the soul； all
fresh from the making； first discoveries the world； which for its sake
seems to assume such caressing brightness； such mysterious charm！ And
that； Madame； is indeed because the universe itself is only the reflection of
our soul。
〃My mother was being very happily constituted。 She rose with the sun；
like the birds； and she herself resembled the birds by her domestic industry；
by her maternal instinct； by her perpetual desire to sing； and by a sort of
brusque grace； which I could feel the of very well even as a child。 She was
the soul of the house； which she filled with her systematic and joyous
activity。 My father was just as slow as she was brisk。 I can recall very well
that placid face of his； over which at times an ironical smile used to flit。
He was fatigued with active life； and he loved his fatigue。 Seated beside
the fire in his big arm…chair； he used to read from morning till night； and it
is from him that I inherit my love of books。 I have in my library a Mably
and a Raynal； which he annotated with his own hand from beginning to
end。 But it was utterly useless attempting to interest him in anything
practical whatever。 When my mother would try； by all kinds of gracious
little ruses； to lure him out of his retirement； he would simply shake his
head with that inexorable gentleness which is the force of weak characters。
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He used in this way greatly to worry the poor woman； who could not enter
at all into his own sphere of meditative wisdom； and could understand
nothing of life except its daily duties and the merry labour of each hour。
She thought him sick； and feared he was going to become still more so。
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