They fancied they were
surrounded by invisible enemies, who were crawling along in the
darkness, ready to fly at their throats. At the slightest noise they
imagined there were enemies deliberating beneath the terrace, prior to
scaling it. Yet there was nothing, nothing but darkness upon which they
fixed their eyes distractedly. The marquis, as if to console them, said
in his ironical way: "Don't be uneasy! They will certainly wait till
daybreak."
Meanwhile Rougon cursed and swore. He felt himself again giving way to
fear. As for Granoux, his hair turned completely white. At last the dawn
appeared with weary slowness. This again was a terribly anxious moment.
The gentlemen, at the first ray of light, expected to see an army drawn
up in line before the town. It so happened that day that the dawn was
lazy and lingered awhile on the edge of the horizon. With outstretched
necks and fixed gaze, the party on the terrace peered anxiously into the
misty expanse. In the uncertain light they fancied they caught glimpses
of colossal profiles, the plain seemed to be transformed into a lake of
blood, the rocks looked like corpses floating on its surface, and the
clusters of trees took the forms of battalions drawn up and threatening
attack. When the growing light had at last dispersed these phantoms,
the morning broke so pale, so mournful, so melancholy, that even the
marquis's spirits sank. Not a single insurgent was to be seen, and the
high roads were free; but the grey valley wore a gruesomely sad and
deserted aspect.
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