'No. Seeing--what is seeing? It is but a vulgar sense, it is not all;
but I sat at her feet. She was with me. We were one, as of old----.' A
gleam of strange light came into his dim eyes. 'Seeing is not
everything, Madame.'

'No, M. Lecamus. I heard the dear voice of my little Marie.'

'Nor is hearing everything,' he said hastily. 'Neither did she speak;
but she was there. We were one; we had no need to speak. What is
speaking or hearing when heart wells into heart? For a very little
moment, only for a moment, Madame Dupin.'

I put out my hand to him; I could not say a word. How was it possible
that she could go away again, and leave him so feeble, so worn, alone?

'Only a very little moment,' he said, slowly. 'There were other
voices--but not hers. I think I am glad it was in the spirit we met, she
and I--I prefer not to see her till--after----'

'Oh, M. Lecamus, I am too much of the world! To see them, to hear
them--it is for this I long.'

'No, dear Madame. I would not have it till--after----. But I must make
haste, I must write, I hear the hum approaching----'

I could not tell what he meant; but I asked no more. How still
everything was The people lay asleep on the grass, and I, too, was
overwhelmed by the great quiet. I do not know if I slept, but I dreamed.
I saw a child very fair and tall always near me, but hiding her face. It
appeared to me in my dream that all I wished for was to see this hidden