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that sort of fencing designate as la rose couverte.
When he had, not without difficulty, repassed the fence,
and found himself once more in the street, alone, without
refuge, without shelter, without a roof over his head, chased
even from that bed of straw and from that miserable ken-
nel, he dropped rather than seated himself on a stone, and it
appears that a passer-by heard him exclaim, ‘I am not even
a dog!’
He soon rose again and resumed his march. He went
out of the town, hoping to find some tree or haystack in the
fields which would afford him shelter.
He walked thus for some time, with his head still droop-
ing. When he felt himself far from every human habitation,
he raised his eyes and gazed searchingly about him. He was
in a field. Before him was one of those low hills covered with
close-cut stubble, which, after the harvest, resemble shaved
heads.
The horizon was perfectly black. This was not alone
the obscurity of night; it was caused by very low-hanging
clouds which seemed to rest upon the hill itself, and which
were mounting and filling the whole sky. Meanwhile, as
the moon was about to rise, and as there was still floating
in the zenith a remnant of the brightness of twilight, these
clouds formed at the summit of the sky a sort of whitish
arch, whence a gleam of light fell upon the earth.
The earth was thus better lighted than the sky, which
produces a particularly sinister effect, and the hill, whose
contour was poor and mean, was outlined vague and wan
against the gloomy horizon. The whole effect was hideous,