Take a winter scene, for instance, with the whole country covered with a white mantle of the snow, the trees and the forests raising themselves up brown and dim, the masses of dark pines and firs standing out almost black upon the light ground from which they rise, and the view extending far over a nearly level country, with here and there a rounded hill rising detached and abruptly from the plain, perhaps unbroken in its monotonous line, perhaps crowned by the sharp angles and hard lines of fortress or town. The description does not seem very inviting. But let us show how this scene varied during the course of the evening, as three travelers rode along at a quick pace, although their horses seemed somewhat tired, and the distance they had journeyed had undoubtedly been considerable. Toward three o'clock a heavy, gray cloud, apparently portending more snow, stretched over the greater part of the sky, cutting off the arch of the concave, and seeming like a flat canopy spread overhead. To the southwest the heavens remained clear, and there the pall of cloud was fringed with gold, while from underneath streamed the horizontal light, catching upon and brightening the slopes, and throwing the dells into deeper shadow. The abrupt hills looked blue and grand, and raised their heads as if to support the heavy mass of gray above. Gradually, as the sun descended lower, that line of open sky became of a brighter and a brighter yellow. The dun canopy parted into masses, checkering the heavens with black and gold. The same warm hues spread over every eminence, and, as the sun descended further still, a rosy light, glowing brighter and brighter every instant, touched the snowy summits of the hills, flooded the plain, and seeking out in all its sinuosities the course of the ice-covered river, flashed back from the glassy surface as if a multitude of rubies had been scattered across the scene, while the gray wood, which fringed the distant sky, blazed, with a ruddy brightness pouring through the straggling branches, as if a vast fire were kindled on the plains beyond.
It was the last effort of the beauty-giving day, and all those three travelers felt and enjoyed it in their several ways. The sun went down; the hills grew dark and blue; every eminence, and even wave of the ground, appeared to rise higher to the eye; the grayness of twilight spread over all the scene; but still, upon the verge of the sky, lingered the yellow light for full half an hour after day was actually done. Then, through the broken cloud, gleamed out the lustrous stars, like the brighter and the better hopes that come sparkling from on high after the sunshine of this life is done, and when the clouds and vapors of the earth are scattering away.
Still the three rode on. An hour before, there had been visible on the distant edge of the sky a tall tower like that of a cathedral, and one or two spires and steeples scattered round. It told them that a town was in that direction--the town to which they were bending their steps; but all was darkness now, and they saw it no more. The road was fair, however, and well tracked: and though it had been intensely cold during the greater part of the day, the evening had become somewhat milder, as if a thaw were coming on. A light mist rose up from the ground as they entered the wood, not sufficient to obscure the way, but merely to throw a softening indistinctness over objects at any distance, and, as they issued forth from among the larger trees, upon a piece of swampy ground, covered with stunted willows, Jean Charost, for he was at the head of the party, fancied he saw a light moving along at some little distance on the left.
"There is some one with a lantern," he said, turning to a stout man who was riding beside him.
"Feu follet," replied the other. "We must not follow that, my lord, or we shall be up to our neck in a quagmire."
"Why, such exhalations are not common at this time of year, Chauvin," replied the young man.
"Exhalations or no exhalations," rejoined the other, "they come at all times, to mislead poor travelers. All I know is, that the short road to Pithiviers turns off a quarter of a league further on."
"Exhalations!" said Martin Grille; "I never heard them called that name before. Malignant spirits, I have always heard say, who have lured many a man and horse to their death. Don't follow it, sir; pray, don't follow it. That would be worse than the baby business."
Jean Charost laughed, as he replied, "I shall only follow the guidance of Monsieur Chauvin here. He will lead me better than any lantern. But it certainly does seem to me that the light moves on by our side. It can not be more than two or three hundred yards distance either."
"That's their trick, sir," said Chauvin. "They always move on, and seem quite near; but if you hunted them, you would never come up with them, I can tell you. I did so once when I was a boy, and well-nigh got drowned for my pains. Hark! I thought I heard some one calling. That's a new trick these devils have got, I suppose, in our bad times."