Catholics -- Fiction; Clergy -- Fiction; France -- Fiction; Sin -- Christianity -- Fiction
And for hours they walked on under the cool trees. They retained their
reserved attitude towards each other, and scarcely exchanged a word,
though they never left each other’s side, but went together through the
darkest greenery of the forest. At first their way lay through a jungle
of saplings with trunks no thicker than a child’s wrist. They had to
push them aside, and open a path for themselves through the tender
shoots which threw a wavy lacework of foliage before their eyes. The
saplings closed up again behind them, leaving no trace of their passage,
and they struggled on and on at random, ignorant of where they might be,
and leaving nothing behind them to mark their progress, save a momentary
waving of shaken boughs. Albine, weary of being unable to see more
than three steps in front of her, was delighted when they at last
found themselves free of this jungle, whose end they had long tried to
discover. They had now reached a little clearing, whence several narrow
paths, fringed with green hedges, struck out in various directions,
twisting hither and thither, intersecting one another, bending and
stretching in the most capricious fashion. Albine and Serge rose on
tip-toes to peep over the hedges; but they were in no haste, and would
willingly have stayed where they were, lost in the mazy windings,
without ever getting anywhere, if they had not seen before them the
proud lines of the lofty forest trees. They passed at last beneath their
shade, solemnly and with a touch of sacred awe, as when one enters some
vaulted cathedral. The straight lichen-stained trunks of the mighty
trees, of a dingy grey, like discoloured stone, towered loftily, line
by line, like a far-reaching infinity of columns. Naves opened far away,
with lower, narrower aisles; naves strangely bold in their proportions,
whose supporting pillars were very slender, richly caned, so finely
chiselled that everywhere they allowed a glimpse of the blue heavens. A
religious silence reigned beneath the giant arches, the ground below lay
hard as stone in its austere nakedness; not a blade of green was there,
nought but a ruddy dust of dead leaves. And Serge and Albine listened
to their ringing footsteps as they went on, thrilled by the majestic
solitude of this temple.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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