Her voice was veiled with sadness, somewhat tired.
"We became accustomed to that noise."
She stopped, restless.
"Why do you keep turning around?"
"It seems to me that I hear a man walking barefoot," responded George in a low voice. "Let us stop."
They stopped, listened.
George was under the empire of the same horror that had frozen him in front of the door of the funereal chamber. All his being trembled, fascinated by the mystery; he seemed to have already crossed the confines of an unknown world.
"It is Giardino," said Hippolyte, on perceiving the dog, which approached. "He has followed us."
And, several times, she called the faithful animal, which came running up friskily. She bent down to caress him, spoke to him in the special tone she habitually used when she petted animals she was fond of.
"You never leave your friend, do you? You never leave her?"