XXX
When the yellow sun set over the plains of Diambour, her struggles were over; her death agony at an end.
She lay, stretched out upon Jean’s body, clasping with rigid arms her dead son. Hot and starry, the first night of their death descended upon them—bringing with it the saturnalia of wild life, with its hushed mysterious beginning, in every corner of this sombre continent of Africa.
That same evening, in that far country at the foot of the Cevennes, Jeanne’s wedding procession was passing in front of the cottage of the old Peyrals.