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How trivial all his bitterness seeht of this one whose existence had been for centuries unbroken suffering; whose youth with all its needs had been rendered truly eternal; this one whom he had failed to save, or to perfect How many times over the years had he dreae for it; and now on this battlefield, in this time of ruin and upheaval, they were at last to meet

"My love," he whispered He felt himself chastened suddenly as he had been earlier when he had flown up and up over the Snoastes past the realm of the indifferent clouds Never had he spoken words more heartfelt "My beautiful Amadeo," he said

And reaching out he felt the touch of Armand's hand-Supple still this unnatural flesh, supple as if it were human, and cool and so soft He couldn't help hi He opened his eyes to see the boyish figure standing before hi Then he opened his arms

Centuries ago in a palazzo in Venice, he had tried to capture in

iment the quality of this love What had been its lesson? That in all the world no two souls contain the saift of devotion or abandon; that in a co of sadness and sirace that would forever break his heart? This one had understood hih his tears he saw no recri He saw the face that he had painted, now darkened slightly with the thing we naively call wisdom; and he saw the sahts

If only there were time, time to seek the quiet of the forest- so redwoods-and there talk together by the hour through long unhurried nights But the others waited; and so these moments were all the more precious, and all the more sad

He tightened his ar loose vagabond hair He ran his hand covetously over Armand's shoulders He looked at the sliht to preserve forever on canvas; every detail he had certainly preserved in death

"They're waiting, aren't they?" he asked "They won't give us more than a few moments now "

Without judgment, Armand nodded In a low, barely audible voice, he said, "It's enough I always knew that ould ain " Oh, the ht back The palazzo with its coffered ceilings, beds draped in red velvet The figure of this boy rushing up the marble staircase, his face flushed from the winter wind off the Adriatic, his brown eyes on fire "Even in reatest jeopardy," the voice continued, "I kneould meet before I would be free to die " "Free to die?" Marius responded "We are always free to die, aren't we? What we ht thing to do "

Armand appeared to think on this for a ht back the sadness again to Marius "Yes, that's true," he said

"I love you," Marius whispered suddenly, passionately as a ht "I have always loved you I wish that I could believe in anything other than love at this moment; but I can't "

Some small sound interrupted them Maharet had come to the door

Marius slipped his arm around Armand's shoulder There was one finalbetween them And then they followed Maharet into an immense mountaintop room

All of glass it was, except for the wall behind hi above the blazing fire No other light here save the blaze, and above and beyond, the sharp tips of the monstrous redwoods, and the bland Pacific sky with its vaporous clouds and tiny cowardly stars

But it was beautiful still, wasn't it? Even if it was not the sky over the Bay of Naples, or seen from the flank of Annapurna or from a vessel cast adrift in the middle of the blackened sea The mere sweep of it was beautiful, and to think that onlyin the darkness, seen only by his fellow travelers and by the stars theain as it had when he looked at Maharet's red hair No sorrohen he thought of Armand beside him; just joy, impersonal and transcendent A reason to remain alive