Under this subdued light, which is that of winter, the statues, now bereft of their green togas, showed their concrete, weather-beaten and rain stained, with their noses knocked off, or their chins broken; some of them were crumbling to bits--one with a Bacchante’s gesture, was stretching out her arm, the hand of which, carrying a mixing-bowl, only stuck to the wrist by its iron bone, which was dreadful to see. They were going to continue their poses in solitude. Something wild and savage was already beginning to emerge, but no more than was vaguely perceptible. A hawk was sharpening his beak on the weather-cock of the summerhouse. A weasel crossed the paddock with little quiet jumps. Unable to make up my mind to depart, I unlocked the door of the _château_ again, then I came back to the park. I heard my movements resounding on the flooring of the corridors and rustling amongst the leaves of the alleys. The silence was deepening every moment. I felt a certain difficulty in breaking it. It knew well it was going to reign as a master, and as I paused in the midst of the domain, it put forth its almighty power. There I dreamt a long time--I, the human center of the enormous amphitheater, the center, also, of a Walpurgis dance of thoughts. To my call there came in a whirlwind, the faces of long ago and yesterday--imaginary or real--personages of fairy tales, or truth; they whirled round me in a wild crowd, and made of all the deep valley a maelstrom of remembrance, in which the whole past turned and turned again. But I had to go away at last, and leave Fonval to the ivy and the spiders. * * * * * In front of the coach-house, Emma ready dressed for her journey, was impatiently mounting guard. I opened the door. The car was standing askew at the end of the old shed. I had not seen it again since the accident, and I did not even remember having housed it. The assistants, no doubt, through some tardy act of courtesy, had got it in somehow. Heedless of my negligence, the engine roared admirably, the moment the electric contact was made, so I brought out the car as far as the semi-circular terrace, and shut on so many memories a symbolical portal, which closed with a sound like a sob. Thank Heaven! No more of the awful business of Klotz, but no more, also, of my youthful years. Then it occurred to me that by keeping Fonval I might prolong them. “We shall stop at Grey, at the Notary’s,” I said to Emma. “I am not going to sell, I am going to let it.” I plunged on the straight road; the rocky walls seemed to straighten themselves. Emma was prattling. At first the car hummed cheerfully. However, I was not slow in repenting that I had paid so little attention to it. With a sudden jerk it slowed down; then several more, and its progress was soon no more than a succession of abrupt jumps.