As he heard steps upon the sand Cauvignac turned and saw Nanon, still separated from him by the barred gate.
"Ah!" said he, with a tremendous sigh, "here you are at last, little sister. When I see one of these ghastly gates close upon a poor woman, I always think of the door of the tomb closing upon a dead man, and I no more expect to see the one again without her novice's frock, than the other without his winding-sheet."
Nanon smiled sadly.
"Good!" said Cauvignac, "you have ceased to weep; that's a point gained."
"True," said Nanon, "I can weep no more."
"But you can still smile, and that's much better; by your leave we'll go now, shall we not? I don't know why it is, but this place awakens all sorts of thoughts in my mind."
"Salutary?"
"Salutary indeed! is that what you call them? However, we won't discuss the matter, and I am delighted that you think them so. You have laid in a goodly store of the same kind, I trust, dear sister, and will have no occasion to come hither in search of more for a long while."
Nanon did not reply; she was thinking.
"Among these salutary thoughts," Cauvignac ventured to suggest, "I trust that you have cultivated forgetfulness of injuries done you?"