Parables of a Province | Page 8

to go, for a storm was on, but there was the thought
of wife and child on him--the good Michel--and he said: 'It is the home-
trail, and I must get to my nest.' Poor soul, poor soul! I who carry my
life as a leaf in autumn for the west wind was saved, and he--!"
"We are on the same trail now, Monsieur?"
"See: how soft a night, and how goodly is the moon!"
"It is the same trail now as then, Monsieur?"

"And how like velvet are the shadows in the gorge there below--like
velvet-velvet."
"Like a pall. He travelled this trail, Monsieur?"
"I remember thy Fanchon that night--so small a child was she, with
deep brown eyes, a cloud of hair that waved about her head, and a face
that shone like spring. I have seen her but once since then, and yet thou
sayest thy Fanchon has now her great hour, that she brings forth?"
"Yes. In the morning she cried out to me twice, for I am not easy of
waking--shame to me--and said: 'Gustave, thou shalt go for the priest
over the hills, for my time is at hand, and I have seen the White Omen
on the wall.' The White Omen--you know, Monsieur?"
"What does such as she with the legend of the White Omen, Gustave?"
"Who can tell what is in the heart of a mother? Their eyes are not the
eyes of such as we."
"Neither the eyes of man nor priest--thou sayest well. How did she see
it?"
"She was lying in a soft sleep, when something like a pain struck
through her eyes, and she waked. There upon the wall over the shrine
was the white arrow with the tuft of fire. It came and went three times,
and then she called me."
"What tale told the arrow to thy Fanchon, Gustave?"
"That for the child which cometh into the world a life must go from the
world."
"The world is wide and souls are many, Gustave."
"Most true; but her heart was heavy, and it came upon her that the child
might be spared and herself taken."
"Is not that the light of thy home--yonder against the bunch of firs?"
"Yes, yes, good father, they have put a light in the window. See, see,
there are two lights. Ah, merci, merci, they both live! She hath had her
hour! That was the sign our mother promised me."
"Michel's wife--ah, yes, Michel's wife! Blessed be God. A moment,
Gustave; let us kneel here . . ."
. . . "Monsieur, did you not see a white arrow shoot down the sky as the
prayer ended?"
"My son, it was a falling star."
"It seemed to have a tuft of fire."
"Hast thou also the mind of a woman, Gustave?"

"I cannot tell. If it was not a human soul it was a world, and death is
death."
"Thou shalt think of life, Gustave. In thy nest there are two birds where
was but one. Keep in thy heart the joy of life and the truth of love, and
the White Omen shall be naught to thee."
"May I say 'thou' as I speak?"
"Thou shalt speak as I speak to thee."
"Thy face is pale-art thou ill, mon pere?"
"I have no beard, and the moon shines in my face."
"Thy look is as that of one without sight."
"Nay, nay, I can see the two lights in thy window, my son."
"Joy--joy, a little while, and I shall clasp my Fanchon in my arms!"
"Thy Fanchon, and the child--and the child."
The fire sent a trembling glow through the room of a hut on a Voshti
hill, and the smell of burning fir and camphire wood filtered through
the air with a sleepy sweetness. So delicate and faint between the quilts
lay the young mother, the little Fanchon, a shining wonder still in her
face, and the exquisite touch of birth on her--for when a child is born
the mother also is born again. So still she lay until one who gave her
into the world stooped, and drawing open the linen at her breast,
nestled a little life there, which presently gave a tiny cry, the first since
it came forth. Then Fanchon's arms drew up, and, with eyes all tenderly
burning, she clasped the babe to her breast, and as silk breast touched
silk cheek, there sprang up in her the delight and knowledge that the
doom of the White Omen was not for herself. Then she called the child
by its father's name, and said into the distance: "Gustave, Gustave,
come back!"
And the mother of Fanchon, remembering one night so many years
before, said, under her breath: "Michel, Michel, thou art gone so long!"
With their