Some pages of The cross constitute a nugget or a talisman. When the time comes to collect and destroy all the paper copies of the week, I sometimes cry out: ” Damn ! I had zapped. What a find! “ Because there are dailies that are content to inform when others feed. As proof, the last page of Thursday, November 5: a chronicle on faith, a quote from a playwright, the image of a clock destroyed during a recent attack on the University of Kabul. To assimilate in extremis such a page (and to keep it), it was for me to seize by the hair (or the beard!) The fleeting kairos so dear to the Ancients. Especially since, a few days earlier, I had angrily noted in my diary: “God’s silence denounces my inadequate listening. “ Suddenly, black on white, more than a complicity, a convergence. A harmony. Peace temporarily found in the midst of our doubts, our joys, especially our immense fatigue in these times of confinement. From the bottom of my heart, to the columnist Christiane Rancé, to the poet William Shakespeare, to the photographer Mohammad Ismail – and congratulations to the editorial staff for having been able to bring together their talents! – yes, thank you to the providential trio for having revived the flickering flame of our oil lamps, in the throes of blind violence and the inexorable flight of time.