perfume of roses, was it not the divine language of
love?
As I listened with all my senses to this language which was music to me, I was lifted into a world unknown and wondrous; a new enchanted life sprouted, burst into bud and flourished all around me. The horizon receded into mysterious infinity: space shone bright like the interior of the sun, and I felt myself growing so tall and strong that in one embrace I was pressing to my breast all the beings, all the flowers, all the swarms of creatures born of the glance of love exchanged between the Holy Virgin of plaster and a little child.
"Holy Virgin, kindly Virgin!" I cried. "Speak to me, speak to me again, as you used to in the past, in the chapel. . . . And give me love once more, for love is life and I am dying because I am no longer able to love."
But the Virgin was not listening to me any longer. She glided into the chamber and curtsying, mounted the chairs, pried into the furniture pieces, singing strange airs all the time. A drawn bonnet of otter skin now replaced her nimbus of gold, her eyes became like those of Juliette Roux, very large, very sweet, which smiled at me from a plaster face under a veil of very fine gauze. From time to time she approached my bed, waving above me her embroidered handkerchief which exhaled a violent perfume.
"Monsieur Mintie," she said, "I am at home every day from five to seven. And I shall be delighted to see you, delighted!"
"Virgin, kindly Virgin!" I implored again. "Speak to me, please. Speak to me as you did formerly in the chapel."
"Tu, tu, tu, tu!" hummed the Virgin who, causing her lilac robe to swell out and removing her cloak,
