It would be an augury, at least, of our speedy and lasting
reunion.
XCVII.
From the brink of the almost perpendicular sides of the Mont du Chat
that descend to the lake, I could see on my left the old ruins and the
lengthening shadows of the Abbey, which darkened a vast extent of the
waters. In a few minutes I reached the spot. The sun was sinking behind
the Alps, and the long twilight of autumn enveloped the mountains, the
waves, and the shore. I did not stop at the ruins, and passed rapidly
through the orchard where we had sat at the foot of the haystack, near
the bee-hives. The hives and the haystack were still there; but there
was no glow of fire lighting the windows of the little inn, no smoke
ascending from the roof, no nets hung out to dry on the palisades of
the garden.
I knocked, no one answered; I shook the wooden latch, and the door
opened of itself. I entered the little hall with the smoky walls; the
hearth was swept clean, even to the very ashes, and the table and
furniture had been removed.
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