When they came to Chillon, (the old sombre castle on the rocky island)
they entered in order to see the dungeon and the martyr's stake, as
well as the rusty chains on the wall; the stone bed for those
condemned to death and the trap-door where the wretched beings impaled
on iron goads, were hurled into the breakers. It was a place of
execution elevated through Byron's song to the world of poetry. Rudy
was sad, he lent over the broad stone sill of the window, gazed into
the deep blue water and over to the little solitary island with its
three acacias and wished himself there, free from the whole gossiping
society. Babette was remarkably merry, she had been indescribably
amused. The cousin found her perfect.

"Yes, a perfect jackanapes!" said Rudy; this was the first time, that
he had said something, that did not please her. The Englishman had
presented her with a little book, as a souvenir of Chillon,--Byron's
poem of "The Prisoner of Chillon," in the French language, so that
Babette might read it.

"The book may be good," said Rudy, "but the finely combed fellow that
gave it to you does not please me!"

"He looked like a meal-bag, without meal in it!" said the miller and
laughed at his own wit. Rudy laughed and thought that this was very
well said.




XI.