But on the other side, that is to say, to M.de Barjols' right and Roland's left, it was a far different thing.
The horizon stretched illimitable.

In the foreground, the plain, its ruddy soil pierced on all sides by rocks, like a Titan graveyard with its bones protruding through the earth.

Then, sharply outlined in the setting sun, was Avignon with its girdle of walls and its vast palace, like a crouching lion, seeming to hold the panting city in its claws.
Beyond Avignon, a luminous sweep, like a river of molten gold, defined the Rhone.

Beyond the Rhone, a deep-hued azure vista, stretched the chain of hills which separate Avignon from Nimes and d'Uzes.

And far off, the sun, at which one of these two men was probably looking for the last time, sank slowly and majestically in an ocean of gold and purple.
For the rest these two men presented a singular contrast.