essed One, the sweetness of orchards. And even at this
moment when my belly was hollow with hunger for flesh, it was your
love for me that nourished me. Often, indeed, my hunger has been a
joy to me when I could place my head on your sandal for I suffer this
hunger that I may follow you, and gladly I would die for your love."

And the doves cooed.

They stopped in their shivering flight together among the branches
of a barren tree. They could not make up their minds to speak. Each
moment it seemed as though they were about to begin, when in sudden
fright they again filled the listening forest with their sobbing white
caresses. They trembled like young girls who mingle their tears and
their arms. They spoke together as if they had but a single voice:

"Oh Francis, you are more lovely than the light of the glow-worm
gleaming in the moss, gentler than the brook which sings to us while
we hang our warm nest in the fragrant shade of the young poplars. What
matter that the hoarfrost and famine would banish us from your side
and drive us far away to more fruitful lands? For your sake we will
love hoarfrost and famine. For the sake of your love we will give up
the things we crave. And if we must die of the cold, Oh our Master, it
will be with heart against heart."

And one of the dogs with the spiked collars advanced. It was the
spaniel, Rabbit's friend. Like the wolf she had already suffered
bitterly with hunger and her teeth chattered. Her ears were wrinkled
even when she raised them, and her straggly tail which looked like
tufts of cotton she held out rigid and motionless. Her eyes of the
color of yellow raspberries were fixed on Francis with the ardor of
absolute Faith. And her two companions, who trustfully were getting
ready to listen to her, lowered their heads in sign of their ignorance
and goodwill. They were shepherd dogs, who had never heard anything
but the sob of the sheep-bells, the bleating of the flocks and the
lash-like crack of the lightning on the summits, and, proud and happy,
they waited while the little spaniel bore witness.

She took a step forward. But not a sound came from her throat. She
licked the hand of Francis, and then lay down at his feet.

And the ewe bleated.

Her bleats were so full of sadness that it seemed as if she were
already exhaling her soul toward death at the very thought of leaving
Francis. As she stood there in silence, her lamb, seized by some
strange melancholy, was sudden