He had lost Wonder, but she lived again in his songs.

He had lost Beatrice, but he had her image--did she not live for ever in Silencieux?
So he went up the wood, whistling softly to himself--but lo! when he opened his chalet door, there was a strange light in the room.

The eyes of Silencieux were wide open, and from her lips hung a dark moth with the face of death between his wings.
THE END.