Time went slowly. The sky was covered with clouds. An autumn rain lashed the windows. The empty bed seemed at moments to assume the aspect of a tomb. I was afraid.
I opened the door. I listened, and heard nothing but the voice of the wind in the trees. Not a vehicle was to be seen on the road. The half hour sounded sadly from the church tower.
I began to fear lest someone should enter. It seemed to me that only a disaster could come at that hour and under that sombre sky.
Two o’clock struck. I still waited a little. Only the sound of the bell troubled the silence with its monotonous and rhythmical stroke.
At last I left the room, where every object had assumed that melancholy aspect which the restless solitude of the heart gives to all its surroundings.
In the next room I found Nanine sleeping over her work. At the sound of the door, she awoke and asked if her mistress had come in.
“No; but if she comes in, tell her that I was so anxious that I had to go to Paris.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes.
“But how? You won’t find a carriage.”