"
The story our Parisian has to tell is simple enough, and we have no
intention of betraying it, but only to note some of the faces, the
scenes, that peep out in the course of it.
The gloom of the Cevennes is the impression M. Fabre most commonly
conveys. In this book it is rather the cheerful aspect of summer,
those upland valleys of the Cevennes presenting then a symphony in
red, so to call it--as in a land of cherries and goldfinches; and he
has a genial power certainly of making you really feel the sun on the
backs of the two boys out early for a long ramble, of old peasants
resting themselves a little, with spare enjoyment, ere the end:--
"As we turned a sharp elbow of the stream the aspect of the country
changed. It seemed to me entirely red. Cherries in enormous bunches
were hanging everywhere over our heads....
[125] "It was a hut, rather low, rather dark. A log of chestnut was
smouldering in a heap of ashes. Every object was in its place: the
table, the chairs, the plates ranged on the dresser. A fairy, in
truth, reigned there, and, by the touch of her wand, brought
cleanliness and order on every side.
"'Is it you, Norine?' asked a voice from a dark corner, three steps
from the fireplace.
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