Then her proposition in all its hideous blackness recurred to her. Her past life loomed up before her mind’s eye and mercilessly mocked and shamed her, and as she meditated--for the first time--she admitted to herself that she had been to blame from the day of the raspberry _fête_ up to the time of Suzanne’s marriage. The crime she had contemplated now seemed _impish_ and terrible. She repented of her wicked thoughts and thanked God that Bruno’s conduct had created in her this feeling, otherwise she might never have taken a step toward reconciliation. Savin was in the forest. She now awaited him with some impatience. Courageously she made up her mind to tender the first advances and bring back her husband’s smile. All bickering should cease. The abyss on the verge of which Bruno’s flight had arrested her now seemed so dark and horrible. She would a thousand times rather endure the jeers of Rosalie and of the rest than ever again give way to such demon thoughts. “Ah, well, I will make amends for all the harm I have done,” she mentally resolved as she busied herself about the supper. Barrau had gone to _Pierre qui Vire_. A legend is associated with this place respecting the old Balance Rock. This rock leans against another in such a way as to form a perfect balance, and the story goes that each day when the town-clock at Vaumarin, a little village perched upon the opposite mountain, strikes twelve, the rock turns over three times. But some very precise people affirm that there is no town-clock at Vaumarin to strike the hour, and so the legend suffers. Others, however, declare that at midnight the rock, possessed of the devil, slowly turns three times. Many excursions are made to the place to watch the mysterious rock, especially by those who are not in the least afraid of goblins. A more lonely, dreary spot on earth could not be found. The rock is situated some three miles from any human habitation, in the midst of a dense and gloomy forest. All the paths leading to it are lined with deep ravines, some of them of frightful depth and filled with a mass of tangled roots and projecting bowlders. Just at the foot of Balance Rock an avalanche of stones has fallen, and these from time to time tumble headlong over the precipice with a thunderous crash. In awful confusion lie the rocks, forming such weird shapes as in the night are enough to fill with dread the bravest heart. At the bottom of the gorge, in a rock-formed bed, rush the torrents of the Trinquelin River--as though to shun the grewsome spot. But amid these most solitary and desolate surroundings a convent stands on the granite rocks. A misanthropic priest founded it some twenty-five years ago, imposing on its members a code of rules so severe that several died within the first twelve months, and finally the code was somewhat modified. In winter there always is great suffering within its walls, but in the summer-time it is comfortable as well as beautiful.