For I knew the walk was the walk of Marc!
And these three years he had been dead!
With the emotions called forth by this untimely apparition, do you
suppose that I remained in the crowd in the narrow street?--that I
desired to "huzza!" as M. Andre and Cecile drove away? I was stifled.
I wanted air--to breathe--to breathe! I sought it, by turning my steps
to the hills as fast as my trembling limbs would carry me.
It was the road he had taken.
Should I see him again?
I gathered strength. I walked fast--faster. I ran till I was out of
breath. I stopped and sat down on a great moss-grown stone.
A lovely landscape spread out below me. It was years since I had seen
it. The rivers flowing through a champagne country to the sea. The
white houses and thatched roofs of the villages: the red-brick streets
of Benevent. How well I knew it all! It recalled memories of the past.
The thought flashed upon me in an instant.
The last time I was here was with Marc. We desired again to take our
walk--to see our old haunts of bird's-nesting and berry-gathering. It
was the day before he married Cecile.
I rose, wiped the perspiration from my brow, and continued my ascent. I
reached the highest level of the coach road, where, for half a league,
it takes its course through a narrow defile between two precipitous
hills, whose rocky sides no time can change. I looked back.
The open carriage containing Cecile and her husband I could see on the
road, far in the distance. They were driving at a good pace. "They
will pass me in the defile," I said, and hurried on. Why, I knew not.
Presently the sound of wheels on the soft, sandy road was plain enough
to the ear.
Nearer and nearer came the rumble. There were some juniper bushes of
giant growth a little further on the road. It was a question which
would reach them first, the chaise or I.