ose above the surrounding roofs and even above the gigantic trees
in its vicinity.

The garden had been evidently long neglected, for all the walks were
covered with weeds, and in the flower-beds were the half decayed props
which had supported the plants of the previous autumn. The statues were
spotted by the dust and rain; a fine moss covered the monsters of the
fountains, and the little water remaining in the pond was stagnant.

These evidences of the absence of man, the sombre hue of the edifice, the
shrubs growing untrimmed, but, above all, the complete silence, gave a
mournful air of abandonment to the place, and in this solitude the soul
was necessarily filled with painful reflections.

It was already late in the afternoon; the sun was about to sink below the
horizon, its slanting rays illumined only the weathercocks on the top of
the towers. Within the thickets and at the entrance of the grottos, night
already reigned. Not the slightest sound was heard in this place. The
noise of the people at work in the city resounded in the air, the chiming
of the church-bells was wafted from the distance over this solitary
dwelling; but as no sound arose from the habitation itself, the distant
hum from an active multitude rendered the silence of the spot all the more
striking.

Only at intervals a dull sound like the grating noise of a file seemed to
issue from the old edifice; but it was so indistinct and so often
interrupted that it was not sufficient to destroy the solitude and silence
of the place.

Suddenly two heavy strokes, as if from a hammer, resounded through the
garden. Some one had knocked at the exterior door for admittance.

A few moments afterwards a man appeared on the staircase of the pavilion,
and descended into the garden.

He was tall and slender; his hair and beard were red, and a red moustache
covered his upper lip. His cheeks, though sunken and emaciated, were very
red. His eyes were wild in their expression. His arms and legs were of
extraordinary length; his movements were heavy and slow, as though his
limbs had been dislocated and his muscles without strength.

His dress denoted him to be a menial: he wore a vest of black leather, a
red doublet and breeches of the same color, without embroidery or
ornament.

At this moment his sleeves were rolled up, and his thin arms were bare to
the elbows. In his hand he held a file, and apparently he had been
interrupted in some urgent work by the knock