The poor man thought he was going down into a
gulf, when, happily, Christian reappeared, crying--
"Well, Maitre Bernard, what did I say? here is the storm."
And now the hut was for an instant full of dazzling light, and my worthy
uncle, who was lying facing the door, could see the whole valley lighted
up, with its innumerable fir-trees crowded along the slopes down the
valley as close as the grass of the fields, its rocks piled up on the
banks of the river, which was rolling its sulphurous blue waves over the
rounded boulders of the ravine, and the towers of Nideck rising proudly
in the air fifteen hundred feet above.
Then the darkness covered all up again. That was the first flash.
But in that instant of time he caught sight of a strange figure crouching
at the end of the hut without being able to make out what it really was.
Great drops were beginning to patter on the roof. Christian lighted a
rush, and seeing Maitre Bernard with his hands convulsively clutching the
edge of his box of heather, and his face covered with beads of cold
sweat, he cried--
"Why! Master Bernard! what is the matter with you?"
But, without answering, he merely pointed to the figure huddled up in the
corner; it was an old woman, so very advanced in extreme old age, so
yellow and wrinkled, with such a hooked nose, fingers so skinny, and
lips so lean, that she looked like an old owl with all its feathers gone.
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