They carried on their arms great
baskets, from which heads of chickens or of ducks were thrust forth.
And they walked with a shorter and quicker step than their men, their
stiff, lean figures wrapped in scanty shawls pinned over their flat
breasts, their heads enveloped in a white linen cloth close to the
hair, with a cap over all.
Then a _char-a-bancs[2]_ passed, drawn by a jerky-paced nag, with two
men seated side by side shaking like jelly, and a woman behind, who
clung to the side of the vehicle to lessen the rough jolting.
On the square at Goderville there was a crowd, a medley of men and
beasts. The horns of the cattle, the high hats, with a long, hairy
nap, of the wealthy peasants, and the head dresses of the peasant
women, appeared on the surface of the throng. And the sharp, shrill,
high-pitched voices formed an incessant, uncivilized uproar, over
which soared at times a roar of laughter from the powerful chest of a
sturdy yokel, or the prolonged bellow of a cow fastened to the wall of
a house.
There was an all-pervading smell of the stable, of milk, of the
dunghill, of hay, and of perspiration--that acrid, disgusting odor of
man and beast peculiar to country people.
Master Hauchecorne, of Breaute, had just arrived at Goderville, and
was walking toward the square, when he saw a bit of string on the
ground. Master Hauchecorne, economical like every true Norman, thought
that it was well to pick up everything that might be of use; and he
stooped painfully, for he suffered with rheumatism.
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