led Beatrix to this point, whence the view is magnificent, and
where the natural sculpture of the granite is even more imposing to the
spectator than the mass of the huge breastwork when seen from the sandy
road which skirts the shore.

Is it necessary to explain why Camille had rushed away alone? Like
some wounded wild animal, she longed for solitude, and went on and
on, threading her way among the fissures and caves and little peaks of
nature's fortress. Not to be hampered in climbing by women's clothing,
she wore trousers with frilled edges, a short blouse, a peaked cap, and,
by way of staff, she carried a riding-whip, for Camille has always had a
certain vanity in her strength and her agility. Thus arrayed, she looked
far handsomer than Beatrix. She wore also a little shawl of crimson
China crape, crossed on her bosom and tied behind, as they dress a
child. For some time Beatrix and Calyste saw her flitting before them
over the peaks and chasms like a ghost or vision; she was trying to
still her inward sufferings by confronting some imaginary peril.

She was the first to reach the rock in which the box-bush grew. There
she sat down in the shade of a granite projection, and was lost in
thought. What could a woman like herself do with old age, having already
drunk the cup of fame which all great talents, too eager to sip slowly
the stupid pleasures of vanity, quaff at a single draught? She has since
admitted that it was here--at this moment, and on this spot--that one of
those singular reflections suggested by a mere nothing, by one of those
chance accidents that seem nonsense to common minds, but which, to noble
souls, do sometimes open vast depths of thought, decided her to take the
extraordinary step by which she was to part forever from social life.

She drew from her pocket a little box, in which she had put, in case of
thirst, some strawberry lozenges; she now ate several; and as she did
so, the thought crossed her mind that the strawberries, which existed
no longer, lived nevertheless in their qualities. Was it not so with
ourselves? The ocean before her was an image of the infinite. No great
spirit can face the infinite, admitting the immortality of the soul,
without the conviction of a future of holiness. The thought filled her
mind. How petty then seemed the part that she was playing! there was no
real greatness in giving Beatrix to Calyste! So thinking, she felt the
earthly woman die within her, and the t