The light and heat fell upon the settlement, the clearings, and the river as if flung down by an angry hand. The land lay silent, still, and brilliant under the avalanche¹ of burning rays that had destroyed all sound and all motion, had buried all shadows, had choked every breath. No living thing dared to affront² the serenity³ of this cloudless sky, dared to revolt against the oppression of this glorious and cruel sunshine. Strength and resolution, body and mind alike were helpless, and tried to hide before the rush of the fire from heaven. Only the frail⁴ butterflies, the fearless children of the sun, the capricious tyrants⁵ of the flowers, fluttered audaciously in the open, and their minute shadows hovered⁶ in swarms⁷ over the drooping⁸ blossoms, ran lightly on the withering¹⁰ grass, or glided¹¹ on the dry and cracked earth. No voice was heard in this hot noontide but the faint murmur¹² of the river that hurried on in swirls¹³ and eddies¹⁴, its sparkling wavelets chasing each other in their joyous¹⁵ course to the sheltering depths, to the cool refuge of the sea.

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