"
"It is superb, superb!" repeated M. de Guersaint, with impassioned
artistic satisfaction. "Do you see those two trails of light yonder,
which intersect one another and form a cross?"
Pierre's feelings, however, had been touched by what Marie had just said.
He was reflecting upon her words. There was truth in them. Taken singly,
those slender flames, those mere specks of light, were modest and
unobtrusive, like the lowly; it was only their great number that supplied
the effulgence, the sun-like resplendency. Fresh ones were continually
appearing, farther and farther away, like waifs and strays. "Ah!"
murmured the young priest, "do you see that one which has just begun to
flicker, all by itself, far away--do you see it, Marie? Do you see how it
floats and slowly approaches until it is merged in the great lake of
light?"
In the vicinity of the Grotto one could see now as clearly as in the
daytime. The trees, illumined from below, were intensely green, like the
painted trees in stage scenery. Above the moving brasier were some
motionless banners, whose embroidered saints and silken cords showed with
vivid distinctness. And the great reflection ascended to the rock, even
to the Basilica, whose spire now shone out, quite white, against the
black sky; whilst the hillsides across the Gave were likewise brightened,
and displayed the pale fronts of their convents amidst their sombre
foliage.
There came yet another moment of uncertainty. The flaming lake, in which
each burning wick was like a little wave, rolled its starry sparkling as
though it were about to burst from its bed and flow away in a river.
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