en air which came in at both windows of the vehicle.
Emerging from that horrid gloom, he breathed gladly beneath the vast
sky, all radiant with healthy joy. And the image of Marianne arose
before him like a consolatory promise of life's coming victory, an
atonement for every shame and iniquity. His dear wife, whom everlasting
hope kept full of health and courage, and through whom, even amid her
pangs, love would triumph, while they both held themselves in readiness
for to-morrow's allotted effort! The cab rolled on so slowly that
Mathieu almost despaired, eager as he was to reach his bright little
house, that he might once more take part in life's poem, that august
festival instinct with so much suffering and so much joy, humanity's
everlasting hymn, the coming of a new being into the world.

That very day, soon after his return, Denis and Blaise, Ambroise, Rose,
and Reine were sent round to the Beauchenes', where they filled the
house with their romping mirth. Maurice, however, was again ailing, and
had to lie upon a sofa, disconsolate at being unable to take part in
the play of the others. "He has pains in his legs," said his father to
Mathieu, when he came round to inquire after Marianne; "he's growing so
fast, and getting such a big fellow, you know."

Lightly as Beauchene spoke, his eyes even then wavered, and his face
remained for a moment clouded. Perhaps, in his turn, he also had felt
the passing of that icy breath from the unknown which one evening had
made Constance shudder with dread whilst she clasped her swooning boy in
her arms.

But at that moment Mathieu, who had left Marianne's room to answer
Beauchene's inquiries, was summoned back again. And there he now found
the sunlight streaming brilliantly, like a glorious greeting to new
life. While he yet stood there, dazzled by the glow, the doctor said to
him: "It is a boy."

Then Mathieu leant over his wife and kissed her lovingly. Her beautiful
eyes were still moist with the tears of anguish, but she was already
smiling with happiness.

"Dear, dear wife," said Mathieu, "how good and brave you are, and how I
love you!"

"Yes, yes, I am very happy," she faltered, "and I must try to give you
back all the love that you give me."

Ah! that room of battle and victory, it seemed radiant with triumphant
glory. Elsewhere was death, darkness, shame, and crime, but here holy
suffering had led to joy and pride, hope and trustfulness in the coming
future. One s