A JEST OF THE GODS
177
and window. Courtland rose, walked to the rear door, opened it. We followed.
He was asleep upon the table. He slept there, his hands upon his head, his right cheek upon his arm. In the wan light his features showed relaxed, in infinite lassitude, as those of a child after crying; his mouth, a little open, let pass his breathing, equal and faint like a babe's—and once in a while he sighed, a sigh not deep, not peevish, not rebellious, but resigned, rather, patient, gently unhappy.
We left him there. It was the end; the gods had had their jest.
