recluse, a body more
inclined earthward, a face of greater taciturnity. We are intruders.

It is only in the evening that you blend and fall into harmony with
everything. Night awaits you--you see--below the horizon, and we set out
to meet it.

We take each other's arms, I feel my joy preparing; he smiles at the
care I take to prevent his catching cold, and off we go, arm in arm,
tramping to the tune of a sounding tread like two comrades who once were
schoolmates.

The little nestling village lies far behind; at a gulp the turn in the
road swallows up the last hut. The landscape ahead is still variegated,
but as it draws gently nearer the colors wane, the ground flattens, the
features relax as in a face after a smile.

Silence.... Twilight within us is falling also. To admit it we watch the
surrounding dusk with swelling chests and quivering nostrils.

On the rising ground opposite a yellow point is kindled, another and
another, performing an unconscious duty--to usher in the night. And
night is now here. Close by, in the fields, she has already drowned the
olive-trees, which have no compact mass to offer in resistance, scarcely
even any outlines, defenseless, except for their hundred-year-old
trunks. Their life is a thing of quivering, silvery breezes, and when
the darkness comes slinking and whispering, a breath will lull their
gray-lined brows to sleep.

Along the embankment on either side of the road, trees--you can't tell
what sort of trees any more--make great human gestures, as if to give
warning of a drama about to begin. Instinctively we quicken our pace and
draw closer together. The rich blood runs lively in our veins. We share
a fleeting warmth.

And now noises spring up, noises that belong to night alone and are a
part of its peacefulness; mournful bayings, which echo throws back
faithfully from yon slope; the croaking of the frogs, which blight the
heart of the atmosphere; a human call now and then, direct and piercing,
and from the ground the metallic chirping of the crickets.

How at ease you feel, full of loving-kindness, and how sincere you are.
You have sins lurking in your flesh, crimes piled up in your brain, a
sombre mood inhabiting your heart. Everything can be confessed and laid
bare. The night is all-comprehending. Night-time is different from the
stiffly starched daytime with its color and form to distract man from
his intimate verity. You can venture upon the wildest thoughts, expand