Yet she was ever in this dream of his, and he felt that she
would always be; the unattainable, the undeserved, more splendid than his
cause itself--the cause for which he would give--what would he give? Time
would show.
But Elise Malboir, abundant, true, fine, in the healthy vigour of her
nature, with no dream in her heart but love fulfilled--she was no part of
his adventure, but of that vital spirit which can bring to the humblest
as to the highest the good reality of life.
CHAPTER XI
It was the poignancy of these feelings which, later, drew Valmond to the
ashes of the fire in whose glow Elise had stood. The village was quieting
down, the excited habitants had scattered to their homes. But in one or
two houses there was dancing, and, as he passed, Valmond heard the
chansons of the humble games they played--primitive games, primitive
chansons:
"In my right hand I hold a rose-bush,
Which will bloom, Manon lon la!
Which will bloom in the month of May.
Come into our dance, pretty rose-bush,
Come and kiss, Manon Ion la!
Come and kiss whom you love best!"
The ardour, the delight, the careless joy of youth, were in the song and
in the dance.
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