He became calmer at last, after ten or fifteen minutes, and sat down beside her in a clearing. They had no idea where they were; the ground was strewn with flat rocks which resembled tombs, and among them grew juniper-trees, which one might well have mistaken at night for cypresses. "_Mon Dieu_!" said Laurent, suddenly, "are we in a cemetery? Why did you bring me here?" "It is simply a tract of untilled land," she replied. "We passed through many similar ones this evening. If you don't like it, let's not stop here, but go back under the large trees." "No, let us stay here," he rejoined. "Since chance or destiny brings these thoughts of death into my mind, I may as well face them and exhaust their horror. They have their charm, like everything else, have they not, Thérèse? Everything that moves the imagination powerfully, affords us enjoyment, more or less painful. When a head is to fall on the scaffold, the multitude goes to see, and it is altogether natural. We cannot live upon mild emotions alone; we need terrible emotions to make us realize the intensity of life." He spoke thus, as if at random, for some moments. Thérèse dared not question him, and strove to divert his thoughts; she saw that he had had an attack of delirium. At last, he recovered sufficiently to desire and to be able to describe it to her. He had had an hallucination. As he lay on the grass, in the ravine, his brain had become confused. He had heard the echo sing all by itself, and its song was an obscene refrain. Then, as he raised himself on his elbow to seek an explanation of the phenomenon, he had seen a man rush toward him over the grass, a pale-faced man, with torn garments, and his hair flying in the wind.