But Serge was quivering. He had began to recollect. The past was
re-awakening. He could distinctly hear the stir of the village life.
Those peasants, those women and children, he knew them. There was the
mayor, Bambousse, returning from Les Olivettes, calculating how much
the approaching vintage would yield him; there were the Brichets, the
husband crawling along, and the wife moaning with misery. There was
Rosalie flirting with big Fortune behind a wall. He recognised also the
pair in the churchyard, that mischievous Vincent and that bold hussy
Catherine, who were catching big grasshoppers amongst the tombstones.
Yes, and they had Voriau, the black dog, with them, helping them and
ferreting about in the dry grass, and sniffing at every crack in the old
stones. Under the eaves of the church the sparrows were twittering
and bickering before going to roost. The boldest of them flew down and
entered the church through the broken windows, and, as Serge followed
them with his eyes, he recollected all the noise they had formerly made
below the pulpit and on the step by the altar rails, where crumbs were
always put for them. And that was La Teuse yonder, on the parsonage
doorstep, looking fatter than ever in her blue calico dress. She was
turning her head to smile at Desiree, who was coming up from the yard,
laughing noisily. Then they both vanished indoors, and Serge, distracted
with all these revived memories, stretched out his arms.

'It is all over now,' faltered Albine, as she sank down amongst the
broken brambles. 'You will never love me enough again.'

She wept, while Serge stood rooted by the breach, straining his ears
to catch the slightest sound that might be wafted from the village,
waiting, as it were, for some voice that might fully awaken him. The
bell in the church-tower had begun to sway, and slowly through the quiet
evening air the three chimes of the _Angelus_ floated up to the Paradou.
It was a soft and silvery summons. The bell now seemed to be alive.

'O God!' cried Serge, falling on his knees, quite overcome by the
emotion which the soft notes of the bell had excited in him.

He bent down towards the ground, and he felt the three peals of the
_Angelus_ pass over his neck and echo through his heart. The voice of
the bell seemed to grow louder. It was raised again sternly, pitilessly,
for a few moments which seemed to him to be years. It summoned up
before him all his old life, his pious childhood, his h