Suddenly a wonderful light, rich in reflections of gold and crimson--a strange fairy light--filled the passage. The wall in front stood out; ordinarily as pale as December woods, now it suddenly exhibited the splendour of an eastern palace or of a princess’ gown. In all this light there was sound of happy voices and of laughter. No one could be heard singing, yet the light itself seemed to be singing a magnificent song. Réchoussat, who could not move, stretched his neck the more vigorously, and raised his hands a little above the sheets, as if he wanted to feel this beautiful sound and light. “You see, you see,” said Têtard. “I told you they would come.” Then there was a big blaze. Something stopped before the door: it was a tree--a real fir-tree from the forests, planted in a green box. There were so many Chinese lanterns and pink candles hanging from its branches that it looked like an enormous torch. But there was something grander to come: the wise and learned kings now entered. There was Sorri, a Senegalese gunner, Moussa and Cazin. Wrapped in cloaks from Adrianople, they wore long white beards made of cotton wool. They walked right into Réchoussat’s room. Sorri carried a little packet tied with ribbon. Moussa waved aloft two cigars, and Cazin a bottle of champagne. The three of them bowed punctiliously, as they had been told, and Réchoussat found himself suddenly with a box of chocolates in his right hand, two cigars in his left, and a glass of foaming wine on his little table. “Ah, boys! No, no; you’re joking, boys.” Moussa and Cazin laughed. Sorri showed his teeth. “Ah! boys,” repeated Réchoussat, “I don’t smoke, but I’m going to keep the cigars as a souvenir. Pass me the wine.” Sorri took the goblet and offered it as if it were a sacred cup. Réchoussat drank gently and said: “It’s some wine! Good stuff!” There were more than a score of faces at the door, and they all smiled at the gentle naïve Réchoussat. Afterwards, a veritable sunset! The wonderful tree receded, jolting into the passage. The venerable kings disappeared, with their flowing cloaks and their sham beards. Réchoussat still held the goblet and gazed at the candle as if all the lights existed there. He laughed, slowly repeating, “It’s some wine!” Then he continued to laugh and never said a word. Quite gently the darkness entered the room again, and lodged itself everywhere, like an intimate animal disturbed in its habits. With the darkness, something very sad insinuated itself everywhere, which was the odour of Réchoussat’s illness. A murmuring silence rested on every object, like dust. The face of the patient ceased to reflect the splendour of the Christmas tree; his head sunk down, he looked at the bed, at his thin ulcerated legs, the glass vessel full of unclean liquid, the probe, all these incomprehensible things, and he said, stammering with astonishment: “But ... but ... what is the matter then? What is the matter?”