And at the last cry of the wild birds the soul fell back suddenly. And Annette, exhausted, flung herself on her bed and slept. L When morning came, nothing remained of the sorrows of the night but a light snow that melted in the sun. . . . _Cosi la neve al sol si disigilla_. . . . And the aching peace of a body that has fought and knows it has conquered. She felt satiated, satiated with her grief. Grief is like passion. To deliver oneself from it, one has to glut oneself with it. But few people have the hardihood to do this. They feed the snarling dog with crumbs from their table. The only people who conquer grief are those who dare to embrace its excess, who say to it, "I take you to myself. You shall bring forth children through me. . . ." That powerful embrace of the creative soul, as brutal and fertile as actual possession. . . . On the table Annette found what she had written. She tore it up. These disordered words had become as unbearable to her as the feelings they expressed. She did not want to disturb the sense of well-being that pervaded her. She had a feeling of relief, as if a knot, a link of the chain, had just been broken. . . . And in a flash she had a vision of the chain of servitudes from which, one by one, the soul slowly frees itself through a series of existences, its own and those of others (they are all the same). . . . And she asked herself: "Why, why these eternal attachments, these eternal ruptures? Towards what liberation does desire drive us in its sanguinary progress?" It was only for a moment. Why worry about what is going to happen? It will pass, just like what has already happened. We know quite well that, no matter what happens, we shall make our way through. As the saying goes, that old heroic utterance of prayer and defiance: "May God only not lay upon our shoulders heavier burdens than we can bear!" She had borne hers, that of a day. Well, one day at a time! . . . She was eased in heart and body. . . . To strive, _to seek_, NOT _to find, and not to yield_. . . . "It's all right. It's all right. . . . I haven't wasted my time. . . . Leave the rest to to-morrow!" She rose. She was naked, and from over the roofs the morning sun bathed her body and the room. . . . She was happy. . . . Yes, in spite of everything! Everything about her was just as it had been yesterday: the sky, the earth, the past and the future. But everything that had crushed her yesterday was radiant to-day.