It was as if the Divine grace were leaving her, as if God ceased to protect her, and even the elements abandoned her.

In despair, she called upon the unknown, she listened attentively, hoping for some sign from the Invisible.

But there was no reply; the air seemed empty.
There were no more whispering voices, no more mysterious rustlings.
Everything seemed to be dead--the Clos-Marie, with the Chevrotte, the willows, the elm-trees in the Bishop's garden, and the Cathedral itself.
Nothing remained of the dreams she had placed there; the white flight of her friends in passing away left behind them only their sepulchre.

She was in agony at her powerlessness, disarmed, like a Christian of the Primitive Church overcome by original sin, as soon as the aid of the supernatural had departed.

In the dull silence of this protected corner she heard this evil inheritance come back, howling triumphant over everything.