'
"'They are the eyes of the Lord,' she murmured. 'I can only see by my own
poor bees, but He has every hive, every ant's nest, every leaf, every
blade of grass. He lives, He feels, He loves, He suffers, He does good
by means of all these. Oh, Monsieur Hennetius, you are right not to pain
the Lord, who loves us so much!'
"Never in my life had I been so moved and affected, and it was a full
minute before I could ask her--
"'So, my dear child, you see by your bees; will you explain to me how
that is?'
"'I cannot tell, Monsieur Hennetius; it may be because I am so fond of
them. When I was quite a little child they adopted me, and they have
never once hurt me. At first I liked to sit for hours in the apiary all
alone and listen to their humming for hours together. I could see nothing
then, everything was dark to me; but insensibly light came upon me. At
first I could see the sun a little, when it was very hot, then a little
more, with the wild vine and the honeysuckle like a shade over me, then
the full light of day. I began to emerge from myself; my spirit went
forth with the bees. I could see the mountains, the rocks, the lake, the
flowers and mosses, and in the evening, when quite alone, I reflected on
these things.
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