Little by little the days grew shorter. After the month of August, which was very warm, September came, with fresher breezes, and September passed. The oaks and birches in the forest were changing colour among the changeless pines, the oaks turning red and the birches golden. The dried tufts of bushes on the rocks took on a scarlet tint. I was sometimes overtaken by the darkness which rose rapidly from the hollow of the valley, and losing my way was forced to seek the aid of a shepherd in some hamlet whose twinkling lights shone out and guided me.
At last we were informed that the pestilence was abating, and we might soon leave the Alpette. I heard the news without pleasure, intoxicated with liberty as I had become during my long period of idleness. Still, we were to remain a few days longer.
III
THE END OF A REING
ALL night a high wind had been blowing, but by morning it had fallen. October was coming in badly. After breakfast I went out to see what damage the storm had wrought. Autumn had come suddenly. In the woods the oak leaves and beech leaves, leaves red and golden, torn from the trees where they had been glowing like flowers, rustled under my tread, and as in old times when I was little and used to steal out to gather forbidden nuts and crack them afterwards on the fire dogs, I let my feet drag, delighting in their crisp and plaintive chime.
Returning at nightfall I saw a cart standing before the door of the chalet. The headlight was not lighted and it was growing dark, so that I did not perceive till I was close by that it was our farmer’s cart. The horse had not been taken out, but no one was watching it, though some one had taken the precaution to put a blanket over its back.
“Well, Stephen,” said I, entering the kitchen where the farmer was warming himself, for it was already cold on the mountains, “what brings you here?”
We always called him by his first name, as is the custom in our country, although he was already old. His hands were outstretched toward the stove, but he turned his wrinkled, shaven face toward me, the lamp, that moment lighted, revealing it clearly to me.
His light eyes, faded through long service in all weathers, seemed not to see me clearly.
“Ah, Master Francis,” he murmured low, as he rose.
I can not tell why, but the meaningless exclamation gave me a painful impression.