Down below we see the lights of Viviers sparkle.

These men, whose day is worn out, stride towards those earthly stars.

One hope is like another in the evening, as one weariness is like another; we are all alike.

I, also.
I go towards my light, like all the others, as on every evening.
* * * * * * When we have descended for a long time the gradient ends, the avenue flattens out like a river, and widens as it pierces the town.

Through the latticed boughs of the old plane trees--still naked on this last day of March--one glimpses the workmen's houses, upright in space, hazy and fantastic chessboards, with squares of light dabbed on in places, or like vertical cliffs in which our swarming is absorbed.