By the bright light of her fire, which cast her shadow, enormously exaggerated, upon the wall of the ruined chapel, Zinzara selected her couch. She tossed an armful of grass and leaves upon the bottom of a sarcophagus; and, while the nightingale, who builds his nest there every year, was singing for dear life, the strange creature slept peacefully, with her face to the sky, trusting in her destiny; and, as a ray of moonlight fell upon her calm face with its closed eyelids, the sorceress resembled her black mummy, which concealed and idealized corruption--embalmed beneath a golden mask. XXIV IN THE GARGATE When he received Zinzara's message from the gipsy child, Rampal, who was still suffering from his fall of a few days before, did not think of going in person to surprise Renaud. He did better than that. He went at once to Livette, and told her of the rendezvous at the cabin. "Your lover, Livette, who defends you so fiercely against a harmless kiss, is with a woman to-night--you ought to be able to guess who she is--in the Conscript's Hut, near the Icard farm." As Livette stood aghast, with pale cheeks, he continued: "Your father has good horses; if you want to see for yourself, you can. It will be worth your while." "Thanks, Rampal," said Livette. Not for an instant did she doubt the truth of what he told her, and she said to her father: "Go with me to the Icard farm, father, as you know the people there. Let us go to the Icard farm at once; my happiness depends on it. There is something there that I want to see to-morrow morning." The poor man did not understand, but he always yielded to her caprice. They set out at once for the Château d'Avignon. They left the wagon at the château; they harnessed the best pair of horses to the cabriolet, and made seven or eight leagues without stopping. "Thanks, father. I must be here to-morrow morning. I will tell you why----" It was eleven o'clock at night. When all were in bed, Livette, being familiar with "the place," which her father had pointed out to her anew at her request,--Livette furtively left the house to prowl about the spot where disaster awaited her, for love knows no obstacles, and we follow our destiny through everything, and rush on to death in pursuit of our last sorrow. And then?--Ah! throughout the visions of her sick-bed Livette constantly lived over that terrible moment when she was prowling around the swamp. In truth, she was still there, in agony of mind. About the swamp, in the darkness, Livette hovered like a sea-gull in distress. Like a lost soul from hell she flitted about the edges of the bog, trying to pierce with her gaze the dark clumps of reeds and tamarisks. From time to time, according to the spot from which she looked, she could see the gray roof of the cabin, silvered by the moonlight. Was any one there? Had Rampal told her the truth? Ought she to lose this opportunity of convincing herself with her own eyes of Renaud's treachery?