They approached the islands.

The great russety masses grew sombre; all the landscape became simplified in the twilight; the Seine, the sky, the islands, the slopes were naught but brown and grey patches which faded away amidst milky fog.
Camille, who had ended by lying down on his stomach, with his head over the water, dipped his hands in the river.
"The deuce! How cold it is!" he exclaimed.

"It would not be pleasant to go in there head foremost." Laurent did not answer.

For an instant he had been observing the two banks of the river with uneasiness.

He advanced his huge hands to his knees, tightly compressing his lips.