It was a dark, still, cloudy night. Above was the black mass
of the convent dimly defined against the sullen sky; she took
one glance at it before she bade it farewell; all was silent,
not a light shone from its windows, not a tree waved above the
surrounding walls. Behind her hung the great cloud of smoke
that ever darkens over the city of Liege. Here and there a
sudden glare illuminated the gloom of the surrounding hills;
it came from the furnaces of the great iron-foundries; before
her stretched the dusky road, between hedges and trees and
scattered houses, soon lost in the obscurity beyond. Not a
footstep could be heard, not a leaf rustled as Madelon and her
bundle emerged from their hiding-place; but the child felt no
alarm at the silence and solitude--the darkness and loneliness
of the road could not frighten her. Indeed she was naturally
of so courageous a temperament, and just then, through joy and
hope, of so brave a spirit, that it would have been only a
very real and present danger that could have alarmed her, and
she did not even dream if imaginary ones.
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