with a look
and tone of gentle interrogation, "during life, or after death?"

XX.

I sank at her feet overpowered with felicity, and pressed my lips to
them without saying a word. I heard the step of the boatmen, who came
to tell us that the lake was calm, and that there was but just
sufficient daylight left to cross over to the Savoy shore. We rose to
follow them, with unsteady steps, as if intoxicated with joy. Oh, who
can describe what I experienced, as I felt the weight of her pliant but
exhausted frame hanging delightfully on my arm, as though she wished to
feel, and make me feel, that I was henceforward her only support in
weakness, her only trust in sorrow, the only link by which she held to
earth! Methinks I hear even now, though fifteen years have passed since
that hour, the sound of the dry leaves as they rustled beneath our
tread; I see our two long shadows blended into one, which the sun cast
on the left side on the grass of the orchard, and which seemed, like a
living shroud tracking the steps of youth and love, to develop them
before their time. I feel the gentle warmth of her shoulder against my
heart, and the touch of one of the tresses of her hair, which the wind
of the lake waved against my face, and which my lips strove to retain
and to kiss. O Time, what eternities of joy thou buriest in one such
minute, or rather, how powerless art thou against memory; how impotent
to give forgetfulness!

XXI.

The evening was as warm and peaceful as the preceding day had been cold
and stormy. The mountains were bathed in a soft purple light which made
them appear larger and more distant than usual, and they seemed like
huge floating shadows through whose transparency one could perceive the
warm sky of Italy which lay beyond. The sky was mottled with small
crimson clouds, like the ensanguined plumes which fall from the wing of
the wounded swan, struggling in the grasp of an eagle.

The wind had subsided as evening came on; the silvery rippling waves
threw a slight fringe of spray around the rocks, from which the
dripping branches of the fig-trees depended. The smoke from the
cottages, which lay scattered on the Mont du Chat, rose here and there,
and crept upward along the mountain sides, while the cascades fell into
the ravines below, like a smoke of waters. The waves of the lake were
so transparent, that as we leaned over the side of the boat, we could
see the reflection of the oars and of ou