It was to come to an end much sooner than he could possibly have anticipated.

Clotilde and her husband, accompanied by Monsieur and Madame de Moras, went one day, in the carriage, to visit the ruins of a covered gallery which is one of the rarest of druidical antiquities in the country.  These ruins lay at the back of a picturesque little bay, scooped out in the rocky wall that borders the eastern shore of the peninsula.  Their shapeless masses are strewn over one of those grass-clad spurs that extend here and there to the foot of the cliff like giant buttresses.  They are reached, despite the steepness of the hill, by an easy winding road that leads, with long, meandering turns, down to the yellow, sandy beach of the little bay.  Clotilde and Julia made a sketch of the old Celtic temple while the gentlemen were smoking; then they amused themselves for some time watching the rising waves spreading upon the sand its fringes of foam.  It was agreed to return to the top of the hill on foot in order to relieve the horses.

The carriage, on a sign from Lucan, started ahead.  Clotilde took the arm of Monsieur de Moras, and they began ascending slowly the sinuous road.  Lucan was waiting Julia’s good pleasure before following them; she had remained a few steps aside, engaged in animated conversation with an old fisherman who was busy setting his bait in the hollow of the rocks.  She turned toward Lucan, and slightly raising her voice: 

“He says there is another path, much shorter and quite easy, close by here, along the face of the cliff.  I am strongly inclined to take it and avoid that tiresome road.”

“Believe me, do nothing of the kind,” said Lucan; “what is a very easy path for the country people may prove a very arduous one for you and even for me.”

After further conference with the fisherman: 

“He says,” rejoined Julia, “that there is really no danger, and that children go up and down that way every day.  He is going to guide me to the foot of the path, and then I’ll only have to go straight up.  Tell mother I’ll be up there as soon as you all are.”

“Your mother will be dreadfully anxious.”

“Tell her there is no danger.”

Lucan, giving up the attempt to resist any longer a fancy that was growing impatient, went up to the footman who carried Julia’s album and shawl; he requested him to reassure Clotilde and Monsieur de Moras, who had already disappeared behind one of the angles of the road; then returned to Julia.

“Whenever you are ready,” he said.

“You are coming with me?”

“As a matter of course.”