“No, not at all! They’re going to repaint our stars.”
“Using what for money?”
“Old Père Dainville’s niece has given the money. You know Père Dainville’s sight is weakening. Well, it seems he told her how much he loves the stars, and she wants him to see them clearly while he still can.”
Hardly daring to believe his ears, Charles looked up at the faded little stars. Some had already disappeared, leaving only the faintest of gold smudges.
“That’s wonderful news!” he said to Damiot, but Damiot had turned back to arguing points of grammar with the other Jesuit.
Starlight, Charles thought, savoring the word as he looked at the ceiling. He laughed for sheer, sudden happiness. Even a man benighted in a forest could glimpse the stars. Even painted starlight was sometimes enough to steer by.