Having ranged themselves in column, they began to march onward, and Mitaine retraversed the places which had seemed to her so terrific on the preceding night: the stone bridge across the torrent, the wall covered with creepers, and almost hidden by acacia boughs, the forest of naked stems--everything, in short, appeared full of gaiety now that the sun was shining. She called to her the old man who had lately addressed her, and bade him tell her what were the tortures, the sight of which had so roused her. “Those,” said the dead man, “were the halls of nightmare, my child. The Lord of Fear gives his victims no rest. He and Sleep, who delivers them into his hand, understand each other. Incubi, demons, vampires, and ghoules form his terrible executioners, and preside over the punishments. You have seen them at their task, I need not attempt to describe them!” “What can defend us against them?” “A clear conscience and a good digestion.” In a quarter of an hour Mitaine perceived the hut at which she had stopped on the night before. The peasant was seated on the ground among his little ones. “Thank heaven!” said she. “Poor old man, your feeble sight will not, doubtless, allow you to distinguish your son as yet. But you, his wife, you can no doubt perceive him.” “We have never ceased to see him since we parted,” said she. “There is neither limit nor let to the vision of the dead.” The peasant turned his head, saw the procession approaching, recognised Mitaine, and, with a shout of surprise, at once ran to meet her. Ere he had reached half-way, his glance fell on his father and his wife, and, overcome with joy, he sank on his knees, stretching out his arms towards them. He would fain have spoken, but could find no language to express in fitting terms the joy he experienced. He scarce dared to move, lest he should put to flight the beloved group he saw before him. When he had ascertained that he was not suffering from an illusion, tears filled his eyes, and, clasping his hands, he fell on his face, saying, “Kind Heaven, I am indeed grateful for this!” I will not attempt to describe to you the joy of these three, whom death had, for a while, no power to separate. The mother covered her babes with kisses. The peasant, now as aged as his father had been, could not tear himself from his arms. Their white beards mingled at each embrace. The first outburst of joy over, they all three turned to Mitaine, and kissed her hands. “Who could have forewarned you of all this happiness, my son?” said the father.