The moon, silvering the treetops, made numberless flakes of light amid the dense foliage.

The terraces, white with moonbeams, where the Newfoundlands in their curly coats went to and fro, watching the night butterflies, the smooth, deep waters of the ponds, all shone with a mute, calm brilliance, as if reflected in a silver mirror.

Here and there glow-worms twinkled on the edges of the greensward.
The two promenaders remained for a moment beneath the shade of the Paulownia, sitting silent on the bench, lost in the dense darkness which the moon makes where its rays do not reach.

Suddenly they appeared in the bright light, wrapped in a languishing embrace; then walked slowly across the main avenue, and disappeared among the trees.
"I was sure of it!" said old Gardinois, recognizing them.

Indeed, what need had he to recognize them?
Did not the silence of the dogs, the aspect of the sleeping house, tell him more clearly than anything else could, what species of impudent crime, unknown and unpunished, haunted the avenues in his park by night?
Be that as it may, the old peasant was overjoyed by his discovery.