From the tone of his narrative, it appears that, in reviving old
recollections, the veteran renewed his youth also, and though his
story throws no fresh light upon the history of the time, it
seems to possess some human interest.
THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF.
CHAPTER I.
WARE WOLF!
I had afterwards such good reason to look back upon and remember
the events of that afternoon, that Catherine's voice seems to
ring in my brain even now. I can shut my eyes and see again,
after all these years, what I saw then--just the blue summer sky,
and one grey angle of the keep, from which a fleecy cloud was
trailing like the smoke from a chimney. I could see no more
because I was lying on my back, my head resting on my hands.
Marie and Croisette, my brothers, were lying by me in exactly the
same posture, and a few yards away on the terrace, Catherine was
sitting on a stool Gil had brought out for her. It was the
second Thursday in August, and hot. Even the jackdaws were
silent. I had almost fallen asleep, watching my cloud grow
longer and longer, and thinner and thinner, when Croisette, who
cared for heat no more than a lizard, spoke up sharply,
"Mademoiselle," he said, "why are you watching the Cahors road?"
I had not noticed that she was doing so.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25