When Sylvestre Ker was alone, he listened to the noise of the waves
dashing upon the beach and the sighing of the wind among the great
oaks,--two mournful sounds. And he looked with conflicting feelings at
the empty seats of Matheline and of his dear mother Josserande. Little
by little had he seen the black hair of the widow become gray, then
white, around her sunken temples. That night memory carried him back
even to his cradle, over which had bent the sweet, noble face of her who
had always spoken to him of God.
But whence came those golden ringlets that mingled with Josserande's
black hair, and which shone in the sunlight above his mother's snowy
locks? And that laugh, oh! that silvery laugh of youth, which prevented
Sylvestre Ker from hearing, in his pious recollections, the calm, grave
voice of his mother. Whence did it come?
Seven years! Pol had said. "Where is the girl who can wait seven years?"
and these words floated in the air. Never had the son of Martin Ker
heard such strange voices amid the roaring of the ocean, nor in the
rushing winds of the forest of the Druids.
Suddenly the tower also commenced to speak, not only through the cracks
of the old windows where the mournful wind sighed, but with a confusion
of sounds that resembled the busy whispering of a crowd, that penetrated
through the closed doors of the laboratory, under which a bright light
streamed. Sylvestre Ker opened the door, fearing to see all in a blaze,
but there was no fire; the light that streamed under the door came from
the round, red eye of his furnace, and happened to strike the stone of
the threshold. No one was in the laboratory; still, the noises, similar
to the chattering of an audience awaiting a promised spectacle, did not
cease. The air was full of speaking things; the spirits could be felt
swarming around, as closely packed as the wheat in the barn or the sand
on the seashore. And, although not seen, they spoke all kinds of
phantom-words, which were heard right and left, before and behind, above
and below, and which penetrated through the pores of the skin like
quicksilver passing through a cloth.