Light thought that he had been punished enough and did not scold him. Besides, she was very much upset by the horrible danger which he had run.
Tyltyl, Mytyl and the Dog, glad to meet again safe and sound, exchanged wild kisses. They laughingly counted their wounds, which were not very serious.
Tylette was the only one to make a fuss:
“The Dog’s broken my paw!” she mewed.
Tylô felt as if he could have made a mouthful of her:
“Never mind!” he said. “It’ll keep!”
“Leave her alone, will you, you ugly beast?” said Mytyl.
Our friends went back to the Temple of Light to rest after their adventure. Tyltyl, repenting of his disobedience, dared not even mention the Blue Bird of which he had caught a glimpse; and Light said to the Children, gently:
“Let this teach you, dears, that Man is all alone against all in this world. Never forget that.”
IX
The Leave-Taking
Weeks and months had passed since the children’s departure on their journey; and the hour of separation was at hand. Light had been very sad lately; she had counted the days in sorrow, without a word to the Animals and Things, who had no idea of the misfortune that threatened them.
On the day when we see them for the last time, they were all out in the gardens of the temple. Light stood watching them from a marble terrace, with Tyltyl and Mytyl sleeping by her side. Much had happened in the past twelve months; but the life of the Animals and Things, which had no intelligence to guide it, had made no progress, on the contrary. Bread had eaten so much that he was now not able to walk: Milk, devoted as ever, dragged him along in a Bath chair. Fire’s nasty temper had made him quarrel with everybody and he had become very lonely and unhappy in consequence. Water, who had no will of her own, had ended by yielding to Sugar’s sweet entreaties: they were now married; and Sugar presented a most piteous sight. The poor fellow was reduced to a shadow of his former self, shrank visibly day by day and was sillier than ever, while Water, in marrying, had lost her principal charm, her simplicity. The Cat had remained the liar that she always was; and our dear friend Tylô had never been able to overcome his hatred for her.
“Poor things!” thought Light, with a sigh. “They have not gained much by receiving the benefit of life! They have travelled and seen nothing of all the wonders that surrounded them in my peaceful temple; they were either quarrelling with one another or overeating themselves until they fell ill. They were too foolish to enjoy their happiness and they will recognize it for the first time presently, when they are about to lose it. …”
At that moment, a pretty dove, with silver wings, alighted on her knees. It wore an emerald collar round its neck, with a note fastened to the clasp. The dove was the Fairy Bérylune’s messenger. Light opened the letter and read these few words:
“Remember that the year is over.”
Then Light stood up, waved her wand and everything disappeared from sight.
A few seconds later, the whole company were gathered together outside a high wall with a small door in it. The first rays of the dawn were gilding the treetops. Tyltyl and Mytyl, whom Light was fondly supporting with her arms, woke up, rubbed their eyes and looked around them in astonishment.
“What?” said Light to Tyltyl. “Don’t you know that wall and that little door?”
The sleepy boy shook his head: he remembered nothing. Then Light assisted his memory:
“The wall,” she said, “surrounds a house which we left one evening just a year ago today. …”
“Just a year ago? … Why, then. …” And, clapping his hands with glee, Tyltyl ran to the door. “We must be near Mummy! … I want to kiss her at once, at once, at once!”
But Light stopped him. It was too early, she said: Mummy and Daddy were still asleep and he must not wake them with a start.
“Besides,” she added, “the door will not open till the hour strikes.”
“What hour?” asked the boy.
“The hour of separation,” Light answered, sadly.
“What!” said Tyltyl, in great distress. “Are you leaving us?”
“I must,” said Light. “The year is past. The Fairy will come back and ask you for the Blue Bird.”
“But I haven’t got the Blue Bird!” cried Tyltyl. “The one of the Land of Memory turned quite black, the one of the Future flew away, the Night’s are dead, those in the Graveyard were not blue and I could not catch the one in the Forest! … Will the Fairy be angry? … What will she say? …”
“Never mind, dear,” said Light. “You did your best. And, though you did not find the Blue Bird, you deserved to do so, for the goodwill, pluck and courage which you showed.”
Light’s face beamed with happiness as she spoke these words, for she knew that to deserve to find the Blue Bird was very much the same thing as finding it; but she was not allowed to say this, for it was a beautiful mystery, which Tyltyl had to solve for himself. She turned to the Animals and Things, who stood weeping in a corner, and told them to come and kiss the Children.
Bread at once put down the cage at Tyltyl’s feet and began to make a speech:
“In the name of all, I crave permission. …”
“You shan’t have mine!” cried Fire.
“Order!” cried Water.
“We still have tongues of our own!” roared Fire.
“Yes! Yes!” screamed Sugar, who, knowing that his end was at hand, kept kissing Water and melting before the others’ eyes.
Poor Bread in vain tried to make his voice heard above the din. Light had to interfere and command silence. Then Bread spoke his last words:
“I am leaving you,” he said, between his sobs. “I am leaving you, my dear Children, and you will no longer
