This is your own heart's voice; you know if it be true." "It is true," moaned Antony.
"Many men and many loves are there in this world," continued Silencieux, "and each knows the way of his own love, nor shall anything turn him from it in the end.

Here he may go and thither he may turn, but in the end there is only one way of joy for each, and in that way must he go or perish.

Many faces are fair upon the earth, but for each man is a face fairest of all, for which, unless he win it, each must go desolate forever--" "Face of Eternal Beauty," said Antony, "there is but one face for me for ever.

It is yours." * * * * * On the morrow Beatrice saw once more that light in Antony's face which made her afraid.

He had brought with him some sheets of paper on which were written the songs of little Wonder Silencieux had bidden him sing.
They were songs of grief so poignant and beautiful one grew happy in listening to them, and Antony forgot all in the joy of having made them.