n
steps had we walked arm in arm. The path which led to Batz was not so
much as traced. A gust of wind was enough to efface all tracks left by
the hoofs of horses or the wheels of carts; but the practised eye of our
guide could recognize by scraps of mud or the dung of cattle the road
that crossed that desert, now descending towards the sea, then rising
landward according to either the fall of the ground or the necessity of
rounding some breastwork of rock. By mid-day, we were only half way.

"We will stop to rest over there," I said, pointing to a promontory of
rocks sufficiently high to make it probable we should find a grotto.

The fisherman, who heard me and saw the direction in which I pointed,
shook his head, and said,--

"Some one is there. All those who come from the village of Batz to
Croisic, or from Croisic to Batz, go round that place; they never pass
it."

These words were said in a low voice, and seemed to indicate a mystery.

"Who is he,--a robber, a murderer?"

Our guide answered only by drawing a deep breath, which redoubled our
curiosity.

"But if we pass that way, would any harm happen to us?"

"Oh, no!"

"Will you go with us?"

"No, monsieur."

"We will go, if you assure us there is no danger."

"I do not say so," replied the fisherman, hastily. "I only say that he
who is there will say nothing to you, and do you no harm. He never so
much as moves from his place."

"Who is it?"

"A man."

Never were two syllables pronounced in so tragic a manner. At this
moment we were about fifty feet from the rocky eminence, which extended
a long reef into the sea. Our guide took a path which led him round the
base of the rock. We ourselves continued our way over it; but Pauline
took my arm. Our guide hastened his steps in order to meet us on the
other side, where the two paths came together again.

This circumstance excited our curiosity, which soon became so keen that
our hearts were beating as if with a sense of fear. In spite of the
heat of the day, and the fatigue caused by toiling through the sand,
our souls were still surrendered to the softness unspeakable of our
exquisite ecstasy. They were filled with that pure pleasure which cannot
be described unless we liken it to the joy of listening to enchanting
music, Mozart's "Audiamo mio ben," for instance. When two pure
sentiments blend together, what is that but two sweet voices singing?
To be able to appreciate properly the emotion that h