There was before him, expiation. He smiled wanly.
His brother. Slowly he tore the letter in two, the halves into
quarters, the quarters into infinitesimal squares. He took a pinch of
them and extended his arm, dropping the particles of paper upon the
current of the wind. They rose, fell, eddied, swam, and rose again,
finally to fall on the roofs below. Again and again he repeated this
act, till not a single square remained in his hand. His brother. He
re-entered the room, shouldered his pack, and passed from the chateau.
The dream of empire was gone; the day of expiation was begun. Later he
was seen making his way toward the parapet.
The Chevalier and madame continued to gaze toward the south, toward the
scene of the great catastrophe of their lives. They had been talking
it over again: the journey through the forest, the conflict at the hut,
the day in the hills.
"Peace," said madame.
"Peace and love," said the Chevalier.
"And that poor father of yours! But you forgave him?"
"Yes."
"And Jehan will not tell you who Sister Benie was?"
"No. And he appears so terrified when I mention the matter that I
shall make no further inquiries.
Pages:
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582