Here and there, a tower or a tree betrayed its outlines
against the sky, and then the objects on the margin of the lake began to
stand out in gloomy relief from the land. Lights flared along the strand,
and cries reached them, from the shore. A dark shapeless pile stood
directly athwart their watery path, and, at the next moment, it took the
aspect of a ruined castle-like edifice. The canvass flapped and was
handed, the Winkelried rose and set more slowly and with a gentler
movement, and glided into the little, secure, artificial haven of La Tour
de Peil. A forest of latine yards and low masts lay before them, but, by
giving the bark a rank sheer, Maso brought her to her berth, by the side
of another lake craft, with a gentleness of collision that, as the
mariners have it, would not have broken an egg.
A hundred voices greeted the travellers; for their approach had been seen
and watched with intense anxiety. Fifty eager Vevaisans poured upon her
deck, in a noisy crowd, the instant it was possible. Among others, a dark
shaggy object bounded foremost. It leaped wildly forward, and Maso found
himself in the embraces of Nettuno.
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