They looked out, the sun was rapidly sinking in the horizon; gloom gradually covered the ground; objects were confused, and it was impossible to distinguish anything, even at a short distance.
"Let us go in," Father Seraphin said; "the night chill might strike you."
"Nonsense," she said, "I feel nothing."
"Besides," he went on, "the gloom is so dense that you cannot see him."
"That is true," she said, fervently, "but I shall hear him."
There was no reply possible to this. Father Seraphin took his seat again by her side.
"Forgive me, father," she said, "but joy renders me mad."
"You have suffered enough, poor mother," he answered, kindly, "to have the right of enjoying unmingled happiness this day. Do what you please, then, and have no fear of causing me pain."
About an hour elapsed ere another word was uttered by them: they were listening; the night was becoming more gloomy, the desert sounds more imposing, the evening breeze had risen, and groaned hoarsely through the quebradas, with a melancholy and prolonged sound. Suddenly Madame Guillois sprang up with flashing eye, and seized the missionary's hand.
"Here he is," she said, hoarsely.