| 265 | 266 | 267 | 268 | 269 |
| 1 | 236 | 472 | 708 | 944 |
|
CHAPTER VI.
THE AWAKING.
The beginning of day is sinister. A sad pale light penetrated the hut.
It was the frozen dawn. That wan light which throws into relief the
mournful reality of objects which are blurred into spectral forms by the
night, did not awake the children, so soundly were they sleeping. The
caravan was warm. Their breathings alternated like two peaceful waves.
There was no longer a hurricane without. The light of dawn was slowly
taking possession of the horizon. The constellations were being
extinguished, like candles blown out one after the other. Only a few
large stars resisted. The deep-toned song of the Infinite was coming
from the sea.
The fire in the stove was not quite out. The twilight broke, little by
little, into daylight. The boy slept less heavily than the girl. At
length, a ray brighter than the others broke through the pane, and he
opened his eyes. The sleep of childhood ends in forgetfulness. He lay in
a state of semi-stupor, without knowing where he was or what was near
him, without making an effort to remember, gazing at the ceiling, and
setting himself an aimless task as he gazed dreamily at the letters of
the inscription--"Ursus, Philosopher"--which, being unable to read, he
examined without the power of deciphering.
267
Page
Quick Jump
|