On the side of a noble mountain, whose base
is kissed by the waves of Lake Geneva, and whose slopes are decked
with verdure to the utmost peak of its rocky crown, is situated
the delightful country residence of this wealthy, retired French
officer. A winding road, with frequent climbs and brakes, leads
from the valley to this enchanting spot, the air and scenery of
which cannot be surpassed in the world.
CHAPTER XXXIV
CLOTELLE MEETS HER FATHER.
THE clouds that had skirted the sky during the day broke at last,
and the rain fell in torrents, as Jerome and Clotelle retired for
the night, in the little town of Ferney, on the borders of Lake
Leman. The peals of thunder, and flashes of vivid lightening,
which seemed to leap from mountain to mountain and from crag to
crag, reverberating among the surrounding hills, foretold a heavy
storm.
"I would we were back at Geneva," said Clotelle, as she heard
groans issuing from an adjoining room. The sounds, at first faint,
grew louder and louder, plainly indicating that some person was
suffering extreme pain.
"I did not like this hotel, much, when we came in," I said Jerome,
relighting the lamp, which had been accidentally extinguished.
"Nor I," returned Clotelle.
The shrieks increased, and an occasional "She's dead!" "I killed
her!" "No, she is not dead!" and such-like expressions, would be
heard from the person, who seemed to be deranged.
The thunder grew louder, and the flashes of lightning more vivid,
while the noise from the sick-room seemed to increase.
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