It brings something limitless into being, something which surpasses and threatens us; and it seems to me that he who is not with it will one day be trodden underfoot.
My head goes down in thought.

I walk close to Marcassin, who gives me the impression of an escaping animal, hopping through the darkness--whether because of his name,[1] or his stench, I do not know.
The evening is darkening; the wind is tearing leaves away; it thickens with rain and begins to nip.
[Footnote 1: _Marcassin_--a young wild boar .-- Tr.] My miserable companion's voice comes to me in shreds.

He is trying to explain to me the law of unremitting toil.

An echo of his murmur reaches my face.
"And that's what one hasn't the least idea of.

Because what's nearest to us, often, one doesn't see it." "Yes, that's true," I say, rather weary of his monotonous complaining.
I try a few words of consolation, knowing that he was recently married.
"After all, no one comes bothering you in your own little corner.
There's always that.