"I smelt a damp and graveyard smell," said the third.
"Was it white?" asked the first.
"Why should only /he/ come back out of all those we left dead at La
Pelerine?" said the second.
"Why indeed?" replied the third. "Why do the Sacre-Coeur men have the
preference? Well, at any rate, I'd rather die without confession than
wander about as he does, without eating or drinking, and no blood in
his body or flesh on his bones."
"Ah!"
This exclamation, or rather this fearful cry, issued from the group as
the three Chouans pointed to the slender form and pallid face of
Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who fled away with terrified rapidity
without a sound.
"Here he is!" "There he is!" "Where?" "There!" "He's gone!" "No!"
"Yes!" "Can you see him?" These cries reverberated like the monotonous
murmur of waves upon a shore.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil walked bravely in the direction of the house
she had seen, and soon came in sight of a number of persons, who all
fled away at her approach with every sign of panic fear. She felt
impelled to advance by a mysterious power which coerced her; the
lightness of her body, which seemed to herself inexplicable, was
another source of terror. These forms which rose in masses at her
approach, as if from the ground on which she trod, uttered moans which
were scarcely human. At last she reached, not without difficulty, a
trampled garden, the hedges and fences of which were broken down.
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