Badelon's stool was empty; the embrasure--that was empty too.

Through its narrow outlet he had a tiny view of the shore and the low rocky hill, of which the summit shone warm in the last rays of the setting sun.
The setting sun! Ay, for the lower part of the hill was growing cold; the shore at its foot was grey.

Then he had slept long, and the time was come.

He drew a deep breath and listened.

But on all within and without lay silence, a silence marked, rather than broken, by the dull fall of a wave on the causeway.