"What?" she cried, when they had left M. d'Aiglemont far behind. "So
soon? Is it so soon? Another moment, and we can neither of us be
ourselves; we shall never be ourselves again, our life is over, in
short--"

"Let us go slowly," said Lord Grenville, "the carriages are still some
way off, and if we may put words into our glances, our hearts may live
a little longer."

They went along the footpath by the river in the late evening light,
almost in silence; such vague words as they uttered, low as the murmur
of the Loire, stirred their souls to the depths. Just as the sun sank,
a last red gleam from the sky fell over them; it was like a mournful
symbol of their ill-starred love.

The General, much put out because the carriage was not at the spot
where they had left it, followed and outstripped the pair without
interrupting their converse. Lord Grenville's high minded and delicate
behavior throughout the journey had completely dispelled the Marquis'
suspicions. For some time past he had left his wife in freedom,
reposing confidence in the noble amateur's Punic faith. Arthur and
Julie walked on together in the close and painful communion of two
hearts laid waste.

So short a while ago as they climbed the cliffs at Montcontour, there
had been a vague hope in either mind, an uneasy joy for which they
dared not account to themselves; but now as they came along the
pathway by the river, they pulled down the frail structure of
imaginings, the child's cardcastle, on which neither of them had dared
to breathe. That hope was over.