He
certainly does not belong to the race of dreamers who have made no
incursion into life, masters with calm brows who have had neither
period, nor country nor family. But this man cannot be separated from
the passions of his time; they made him what he was, and he in turn
created a number of them. Perhaps the future will not give him credit
for his heroic stubbornness and no doubt it will be the episodes of his
books that will immortalise their titles with the names of the causes
they upheld.
I stayed at the window enjoying the night and feeling with delight the
cold morning air on my lids. Little by little the day dawned; the wick
of the candle grew longer and longer and its flame slowly faded away.
The roof of the market appeared in the distance and a cock crowed; the
storm had passed; a few drops of water remained in the dust of the road
and made large round spots on it. As I was very tired, I went back to
bed and slept.
We felt very sad on leaving Combourg, and besides, the end of our
journey was at hand. Soon this delightful trip which we had enjoyed for
three months would be over. The return, like the leave-taking, produces
an anticipated sadness, which gives one a proof of the insipid life we
lead.
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