But she added: "What does it matter?
If ever he comes to disturb us we'll receive him in such a way that he won't be in a hurry to meddle with our affairs any more." Now and again the open country, their long rambles in the fresh air, wearied them somewhat.

They then invariably returned to the Aire Saint-Mittre, to the narrow lane, whence they had been driven by the noisy summer evenings, the pungent scent of the trodden grass, all the warm oppressive emanations.

On certain nights, however, the path proved cooler, and the winds freshened it so that they could remain there without feeling faint.

They then enjoyed a feeling of delightful repose.
Seated on the tombstone, deaf to the noise of the children and gipsies, they felt at home again.

Silvere had on various occasions picked up fragments of bones, even pieces of skulls, and they were fond of speaking of the ancient burial-ground.