The sun rose gloriously next morning over the green woods and still
greener meadows of Tilly. The atmosphere was soft and pure; it had
been washed clean of all its impurities by a few showers in the
night. Every object seemed nearer and clearer to the eye, while the
delicious odor of fresh flowers filled the whole air with fragrance.
The trees, rocks, waters, and green slopes stood out with marvellous
precision of outline, as if cut with a keen knife. No fringe of
haze surrounded them, as in a drought or as in the evening when the
air is filled with the shimmering of the day dust which follows the
sun's chariot in his course round the world.
Every object, great and small, seemed magnified to welcome Pierre
Philibert, who was up betimes this morning and out in the pure air
viewing the old familiar scenes.
With what delight he recognized each favorite spot! There was the
cluster of trees which crowned a promontory overlooking the St.
Lawrence where he and Le Gardeur had stormed the eagle's nest. In
that sweep of forest the deer used to browse and the fawns crouch in
the long ferns.
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