I was captivated by this spectacle.  Sir Thomas, leaning back in the seat, his knees as high as his chin, abandoned himself to his habitual reveries, while the horse, laboring with his feet and hanging his head on his chest as a counter-weight to the carriage, held on as if suspended on the flank of the rock.  Soon, however, we reached a pitch less steep:  the haunt of the roebuck, surrounded by tremulous shadows.  I always lost my head, and my eyes too, in an immense perspective.  At the apparition of the shadows I turned my head and saw the cavern of Spinbronn close at hand.  The encompassing mists were a magnificent green, and the stream which, before falling, extends over a bed of black sand and pebbles, was so clear that one would have thought it frozen if pale vapors did not follow its surface.

The horse had just stopped of his own accord to breathe; Sir Thomas, rising, cast his eye over the countryside.

“How calm everything is!” said he.

Then, after an instant of silence: 

“If you weren’t here, Frantz, I should certainly bathe in the basin.”

“But, Commodore,” said I, “why not bathe?  I would do well to stroll around in the neighborhood.  On the next hill is a great glade filled with wild strawberries.  I’ll go and pick some.  I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Ha!  I should like to, Frantz; it’s a good idea.  Dr. Weber contends that I drink too much Burgundy.  It’s necessary to offset wine with mineral water.  This little bed of sand pleases me.”

Then, having set both feet on the ground, he hitched the horse to the trunk of a little birch and waved his hand as if to say: 

“You may go.”

I saw him sit down on the moss and draw off his boots.  As I moved away he turned and called out: 

“In an hour, Frantz.”

They were his last words.

An hour later I returned to the spring.  The horse, the carriage, and the clothes of Sir Thomas alone met my eyes.  The sun was setting.  The shadows were getting long.  Not a bird’s song under the foliage, not the hum of an insect in the tall grass.  A silence like death looked down on this solitude!  The silence frightened me.  I climbed up on the rock which overlooks the cavern; I looked to the right and to the left.  Nobody!  I called.  No answer!  The sound of my voice, repeated by the echoes, filled me with fear.  Night settled down slowly.  A vague sense of horror oppressed me.  Suddenly the story of the young girl who had disappeared occurred to me; and I began to descend on the run; but, arriving before the cavern, I stopped, seized with unaccountable terror:  in casting a glance in the deep shadows of the spring I had caught sight of two motionless red points.  Then I saw long lines wavering in a strange manner in the midst of the darkness, and that at a depth where no human eye had ever penetrated.  Fear lent my sight, and all my senses, an unheard-of subtlety of perception.  For several seconds I heard very distinctly the evening plaint of a cricket down at the edge of the wood, a dog barking far away, very far in the valley.  Then my heart, compressed for an instant by emotion, began to beat furiously and I no longer heard anything!