The silence had lasted some time. Eugénie broke it first.
"Arthur."
He started as from a dream and turned to her.
"Yes?"
"It is so cold up here--Will you not .... lend me your cloak now?"
Again the bright flush rose to the young man's face, as he looked at her in speechless astonishment. He knew she was so proud, she would rather have been frozen by the icy wind than condescend to beg for the once despised covering; yet she did so now in the hesitating tone, and with the downcast eyes, of one confessing a fault.
In a minute he was at her side, and holding out the cloak to her. She allowed him to put it round her shoulders in silence, but when he was about to return to his former post, he met a glance of dumb yet earnest reproach. Arthur still hesitated for one second, but had she not almost asked for forgiveness? He, too, allowed himself to be disarmed, and remained standing by her.
A great rampart of fog had risen out of the valley and closed in round them, fastening them to the spot. Mountains and woods disappeared in the grey vapour. Only the mighty pines towered high above it, and looked gravely down on the two human beings who had come to them for protection and a refuge. Overhead the dark branches rustled and whispered noisily as with a thousand mysterious voices, and ever and anon struck in the fuller-toned chords of the forest. It became painfully oppressive up here in the midst of this fog, beneath all this eerie fluttering and stir.
Eugénie started up all at once, as if she must extricate herself from some danger, from some toils which held her enchained.
"The fog gets thicker and thicker," said she anxiously; "and the weather more dreadful than ever. Do you think there would be any danger for us on the road?"