Silvere and Miette instinctively cast a glance inside
as they passed on.
Beyond the Jas-Meiffren the road descends with a gentle slope to a
valley, which serves as the bed of a little rivulet, the Viorne, a brook
in summer but a torrent in winter. The rows of elms still extended the
whole way at that time, making the high road a magnificent avenue, which
cast a broad band of gigantic trees across the hill, which was planted
with corn and stunted vines. On that December night, under the clear
cold moonlight, the newly-ploughed fields stretching away on either hand
resembled vast beds of greyish wadding which deadened every sound in the
atmosphere. The dull murmur of the Viorne in the distance alone sent a
quivering thrill through the profound silence of the country-side.
When the young people had begun to descend the avenue, Miette's thoughts
reverted to the Jas-Meiffren which they had just left behind them.
"I had great difficulty in getting away this evening," she said. "My
uncle wouldn't let me go. He had shut himself up in a cellar, where he
was hiding his money, I think, for he seemed greatly frightened this
morning at the events that are taking place."
Silvere clasped her yet more lovingly. "Be brave!" said he. "The time
will come when we shall be able to see each other freely the whole day
long. You must not fret."
"Oh," replied the girl, shaking her head, "you are very hopeful. For my
part I sometimes feel very sad.
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