slept and waked, and heard the voices still in my dream. I prayed, but
it was hard to pray. Once following a crowd I entered your house, M. le
Maire, and went up, though I scarcely could drag myself along. There
many were assembled as in council. Your father was at the head of all.
He was the one, he only, who knew me. Again he looked at me and I saw
him, and in the light of his face an assembly such as I have seen in
pictures. One moment it glimmered before me and then it was gone. There
were the captains of all the bands waiting to speak, men and women. I
heard them repeating from one to another the same tale. One voice was
small and soft like a child's; it spoke of you. 'We went to him,' it
said; and your father, M. le Maire, he too joined in, and said: 'We went
to him--but he could not hear us.' And some said it was enough--that
they had no commission from on high, that they were but permitted--that
it was their own will to do it--and that the time had come to forbear.

Now, while I listened, my heart was grieved that they should fail. This
gave me a wound for myself who had trusted in them, and also for them.
But I, who am I, a poor man without credit among my neighbours, a
dreamer, one whom many despise, that I should come to their aid? Yet I
could not listen and take no part. I cried out: 'Send me. I will tell
them in words they understand.' The sound of my voice was like a roar in
that atmosphere. It sent a tremble into the air. It seemed to rend me as
it came forth from me, and made me giddy, so that I would have fallen
had not there been a support afforded me. As the light was going out of
my eyes I saw again the faces looking at each other, questioning,
benign, beautiful heads one over another, eyes that were clear as the
heavens, but sad. I trembled while I gazed: there was the bliss of
heaven in their faces, yet they were sad. Then everything faded. I was
led away, I know not how, and brought to the door and put forth. I was
not worthy to see the blessed grieve. That is a sight upon which the