Explore "A Fisher Girl of France" by Fernand Calmettes on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The night was soft, moonlit, and silent. There was not a sound in the village, not a breath of air to awaken the sleeping life. The cock, turning on his rod at the top of the steeple, did not creak; there was not the sound of a blind slamming against a wall; not even the furtive step of a marauding cat. Nothing could be heard except the rhythmic beating of the waves on the beach, and very far away on the heights, in the direction of the graveyard, the plaintive howlings of a dog, wailing to the dead.
It must be the captain's dog. During the fifteen days that she had been away, Elise had not thought of her good friend, the shaggy-coated and brave fellow, who said so many sweet things to her with his thoughtful eyes. She could hear him still. It was he, without doubt, but his voice seemed a little deeper than usual. Why was he howling so dismally, and so far away? Could he have lost his master? Elise had returned late the night before.