After fondly kissing the children, Tylette asked a favour of Light:
“I have had such a wretched time,” she whined. “Let me go out for a little while; it will do me good to be alone.”
Light gave her consent without suspecting anything; and the Cat at once draped her cloak round her, put her hat straight, pulled up her soft grey boots over her knees, opened the door and ran and bounded out into the forest. We shall know, a little later, where treacherous Tylette was going so gaily and what was the horrid plot which she was mysteriously concocting.
As on the other days, the Children had their dinner with Light in a large room all encrusted with diamonds. The servants bustled around them smiling and brought delicious dishes and cakes.
After dinner, our little friends began to yawn. They felt sleepy very early, after all their adventures; and, Light—ever kind and thoughtful—made them live as they were accustomed to on earth. So as not to injure their health by altering their habits, she had set up their little beds in a part of the temple where the darkness would seem like night to them.
They went through any number of rooms to reach their bedroom. They had first to pass all the lights known to Man and then those which Man did not yet know.
There were great sumptuous apartments in splendid marble, lit up by rays so white and strong that the children were quite dazzled.
“That is the Light of the Rich,” said Light to Tyltyl. “You see how dangerous it is. People run the risk of going blind when they live too much in its rays, which leave no room for soft and kindly shade.”
And she hurried them on so that they might rest their eyes in the gentle Light of the Poor. Here, the Children suddenly felt as if they were in their parents’ cottage, where everything was so humble and peaceful. The faint light was very pure and clear, but always flickering and ready to go out at the least breath.
Next they came to the beautiful Light of the Poets, which they liked immensely, for it had all the colours of the rainbow; and, when you passed through it, you saw lovely pictures, lovely flowers and lovely toys which you were unable to take hold of. Laughing merrily, the children ran after birds and butterflies, but everything faded away as soon as it was touched.
“Well, I never!” said Tyltyl, as he came panting back to Light. “This beats everything! I can’t understand it!”
“You will understand later,” she replied, “and, if you understand it properly, you will be among the very few human beings who know the Blue Bird when they see him.”
After leaving the region of the Poets, our friends reached the Light of the Learned, which lies on the borders of the known and the unknown lights:
“Let’s get on,” said Tyltyl. “This is boring.”
To tell the truth, he was a little bit frightened, for they were in a long row of cold and forbidding arches, which were streaked at every moment by dazzling lightning-flashes; and, at each flash, you saw out-of-the-way things that had no name as yet.
After these arches, they came to the Lights Unknown to Man; and Tyltyl, in spite of the sleep that pressed upon his eyelids, could not help admiring the hall with its violet columns and the gallery with its red rays. And the violet of the columns was such a dark violet and the red of the rays such a pale red that it was hardly possible to see either of them.
At last, they arrived at the room of smooth, unflecked Black Light, which men call Darkness because their eyes are not yet able to make it out. And here the Children fell asleep without delay on two soft beds of clouds.
VII
The Graveyard
When the Children were not going on an expedition, they played about in the Realms of Light; and this was a great treat for them, for the gardens and the country around the temple were as wonderful as the halls and galleries of silver and gold.
The leaves of some of the plants were so broad and strong that they were able to lie down on them; and, when a breath of wind stirred the leaves, the Children swung as in a hammock. It was always summer there and never a moment was darkened by the night; but the hours were known by their different colours; there were pink, white, blue, lilac, green and yellow hours; and, according to their hues, the flowers, the fruits, the birds, the butterflies and the scents changed, causing Tyltyl and Mytyl a constant surprise. They had all the toys that they could wish for. When they were tired of playing, they stretched themselves out on the backs of the lizards, which were as long and wide as little boats, and quickly, quickly raced round the garden-paths, over the sand which was as white and as good to eat as sugar. When they were thirsty, Water shook her tresses into the cup of the enormous flowers; and the Children drank straight out of the lilies, tulips and morning-glories. If they were hungry, they picked radiant fruits which revealed the taste of Light to them and which had juice that shone like the rays of the sun.
There was also, in a clump of bushes, a white marble pond which possessed a magic power: its clear waters reflected not the faces, but the souls of those who looked into it.
“It’s a ridiculous invention,” said the Cat, who steadily refused to go near the pond.
You, my dear little readers, who know her thoughts as well as I do, will not be surprised at her refusal. And you will also understand why our faithful Tylô was not afraid to go and quench his thirst there: he need not fear
