everywhere at once will prevent the
fulfillment of international truth. But if the great powers of
darkness persist in holding their positions, if they whose clear cries
of warning should be voices crying in the wilderness--O you people of
the world, you the unwearying vanquished of History, I appeal to your
justice and I appeal to your anger. Over the vague quarrels which
drench the strands with blood, over the plunderers of shipwrecks, over
the jetsam and the reefs, and the palaces and monuments built upon the
sand, I see the high tide coming. Truth is only revolutionary by
reason of error's disorder. Revolution is Order.

* * * * * *

CHAPTER XXIII

FACE TO FACE

Through the panes I see the town--I often take refuge at the windows.
Then I go into Marie's bedroom, which gives a view of the country. It
is such a narrow room that to get to the window I must touch her tidy
little bed, and I think of her as I pass it. A bed is something which
never seems either so cold or so lifeless as other things; it lives by
an absence.

Marie is working in the house, downstairs. I hear sounds of moved
furniture, of a broom, and the recurring knock of the shovel on the
bucket into which she empties the dust she has collected. That society
is badly arranged which forces nearly all women to be servants. Marie,
who is as good as I am, will have spent her life in cleaning, in
stooping amid dust and hot fumes, over head and ears in the great
artificial darkness of the house. I used to find it all natural. Now
I think it is all anti-natural.

I hear no more sounds. Marie has finished. She comes up beside me.
We have sought each other and come together as often as possible since
the day when we saw so clearly that we no longer loved each other!

We sit closely side by side, and watch the end of the day. We can see
the last houses of the town, in the beginning of the valley, low houses
within enclosures, and yards, and gardens stocked with sheds. Autumn
is making the gardens quite transparent, and reducing them to nothing
through their trees and hedges; yet here and there foliage still
magnificently flourishes. It is not the wide landscape in its entirety
which attracts me. It is more worth while to pick out each of the
houses and look at it closely.

These houses, which form the finish of the suburb, are not big, and are
not prosperous; but we see one adorning itself with