Then everything disappeared, and
he saw Jeanne before him. Holding herself erect, wrapped in her green
cloak lined with fur, her face shadowed by the great black hat, she
gazed at him as she had done at Praglia, at the moment of their first
meeting. But this time the sleeper perceived a resemblance between the
gravity of that look and the gravity of the dancing-girls' faces. In his
spirit he read the silent word of the seven souls: Unhappy man, you now
recognise your grievous error; you now know that God is not! The gravity
of the glances was only the sadness of pity. The goblets of life, of
health, of pleasure, were offered him discreetly, and without joy, as to
one in mourning, who has lost all he held dearest; offered as the only
poor comfort left him. Thus Jeanne offered her love. And the sleeper was
filled with what seemed to him fresh evidence that God is not! It was,
indeed, a real physical sensation, a chill creeping over all his limbs,
moving slowly to the heart. He began to tremble violently, and awoke.
Mayda was bending over him, the thermometer in his hand.
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