Charles Ferdinand Ramuz: Beauty on Earth

The view on the water that day extended hardly farther than 300 meters until suddenly it was like a curtain falling from its rod in heavy folds. Milliquet came back with the glass and the carafe, Rouge kept quiet. Milliquet stared through the window at the cheerless curtains of fog which came across the lake one after the other, like a hand was bringing them and arranging them along a hanging rod;—eventually a question was asked behind his back (it took Rouge a long time to ask it). “And otherwise?” Milliquet looked at Rouge over his shoulder. “I mean, how does she look like?” “I couldn’t say.” That was all. At six o’clock, Milliquet had the serving girl bring her some coffee with milk; she didn’t show herself the entire day. When it was dark, Milliquet went to look from the terrace whether there was any light on in her room; he saw there was none. And no one heard the slightest sound, even though the planking in her room was simple pine without a carpet and the room where Mr. and Mrs. Milliquet slept was just below. Not the slightest creaking up there; they couldn’t hear her walk or move; so when Milliquet closed up and went to join his wife, she said, “What is that girl doing? You’re sure she didn’t escape?”