In the day she wore garlands of flowers round her head, and in the night a great light.

She would go to meet her at night, that the light might lead her steps.
So one night while Antony banqueted strangely with Silencieux, she drew her cloak around her and stole up the wood, to look a last good-bye at him as he sat laughing with his shadows.
"Good-bye, Antony, good-bye," she cried.

"I had but human love to give you.

I surrender you to the love of the divine." Then noting how full of blossom were the lanes, and how sweet was the night air, and smitten through all her senses with the song and perfume of the world she was about to leave, she found her way, with a strange gladness of release, to the Three Black Ponds.
It was moonlight, and the dwarf oak-trees made druid shadows all along the leafy galleries that overhung the pools.

The pools themselves shone with a startling silver--so hushed, so dreamy was all that surrounded them that there seemed something of an unnatural wakefulness, a daylight observation, in their brilliant surfaces,--and on them, as last year, the lilies floated like the crowns of sunken queens.