its shattered roofs, its half-crumbled towers. Now the rocks and the
castle are covered with a smoky shroud of twilight. They seem airy,
devoid of any weight, and almost as fantastic as those monstrous
heaps of structures which are piled up and which are falling so
noiselessly in the sky. But while the others are falling this one
stands, and a live light reddens against the deep blue--and it is
just as strange a sight as if a human hand were to kindle a light in
the clouds.

Turning their heads in that direction, the women look on with
frightened eyes.

"Do you see," says one of them. "It is even worse than a light on a
cemetery. Who needs a light among the tombstones?"

"It is getting cold toward night and the sailor must have thrown
some branches into the fireplace, that's all. At least, I think so,"
says Mariet.

"And I think that the abbot should have gone there with holy water
long ago."

"Or with the gendarmes! If that isn't the devil himself, it is
surely one of his assistants."

"It is impossible to live peacefully with such neighbours close by."

"I am afraid for the children."

"And for your soul?"