In and Out of Three Normandy Inns

he conversational groups. Still Auguste had not come; half the village was out watch

rm of a caress. So the door ways and streets were always crowded at this hour, groups moved, separated, formed and re formed, and lingered to exchange their budget of gossip, to call out their "Bonne nuit," the girls to clasp hands, look

'absinthe, toi?" as the

drinking up his spoils. It was during the sobering process only that affairs of a purely domestic nature engaged his attention. Some of the streets were permeated with noxious odors, with the poison of absinthe and the fumes

everyone's door? Bah! ?a pue! " the group of lads following him went on, shouting a

urn, poor soul; she always gets i

the groups that filled it. The voice was gruff yet mellow; despite its gruffness it had the ring of a latent kindliness in its deep tones. The man who owned it was seated on a level with

rose from the low seat. The room within seemed to contain nothing else save this giant fi

es the trouble of entering? The s

issive curves; and she bent it once more over her kettles; both she and the kettles were on the bare floor. It was the poorest of all the Villerville interiors we had as yet seen; the house was also, perhaps, the oldest in the village. It and the old church had been opposite neighbors for several centuries. The shop and the living-room were all in one; the low window was a counter by day and a shutter by night. Within, the walls were bare as were the floors

observation and inspection he wagged his tail, gave a short

the right sort. And eloquence, also-he is one who can make speeches with hi

s the true speaker's voice-rich, vibrating, sonorous, with a deep note of melody in it.

face-"you are well placed. The village lies before you. You can alw

fixed their twinkling glitter on the girl's face. They seemed to be reading to the

kes life more diverting; it helps to kill the time. I look out from my perch, like a bird-a v

g the laugh, came

toi-what d

iled feebly, going back with unresisting meekness to her knees, to her pots, and her kettles. T

as continuing, in a masterful way, to enlighten us about the peculiarities

s built by the English, when they came over, thinking to conquer us with their Hundred Years' War. Little they knew France and Frenchmen. The church w

hape of the old wife ven

that was but an echo-"the chu

rumbled anew her husband, giving

ands meekly folded themselves across her apron. She

nt on, not heeding her quiet presence. "Do you know our curé? Ah, ha, he's a fine o

e, he is," his wife ech

s great knees-"as I was saying, we have not been fortunate in cures, we of our parish. There are curés and curés, as there are fagots and fagots-and ours is a bad lot. We've had nothing but trouble since he came to rule over us. We get poorer day

ed in his face. From one of the windows of the house there was leaning forth a group of three heads; there was the tonsured head of a priest, round, pink-tinted, and the figures of two women, o

hem fiercely, as he continued

e was sewing. "Figure to yourselves, mesdames, that besides being wicked, our curé

This time the whisper passed unnoticed; her master's hatred of

machine. The soul, it is a fine instrument on which to play, if one is skilful. Our curé has a grand t

a grand air and a mincing, softly tread, the tread of a priest. His flexible voice imitated

there is no pushing it aside; he would hold it there till you dropped-till Doomsday. Ah, he's a hard crust, he is! There's a tyrant for you-la monarchie absolue-that's what he believes in. He must have this, he must have that. Now it is a new altar-cloth, or a fresh Virgin of the modern make, from Paris, with a robe of real lace; the old one was black and faded, too black to pray to. Now it is a huissier, forsooth, that we must have, we, a parish of a few hu

the woman re

twenty thousand francs, which would pass through his hands, you understand. Well, that staggered the parish. Our mayor-a man pas trop fin, was terribly upset. He went about saying the curé claimed the church as his; he could do as he liked with it, he said, and he proposed to make it a fine modern one. All the village was weeping. The church was the oldest friend of the village, except for such as I, whom these things have turned pagan. Well

cert. Our own laughter was drowned in the thunder of our host's loud guffaws. The poor old wife s

rst of her husband's spasms of glee the old wom

t is I who forgot to

he laugh dying on his

t? You forgot?" His own ton

, you remember, and there was

and the great chest

dren-you have

she died twenty years ago. She lies over there-where we can see her. She

his ver

to put her withered hand in his. His large palm closed over it. Both of the old faces turned toward the cemetery; an

hand, with many promises

cross the rough floors, talking, as their sabots clattered heavily over the wooden surface, as they washed the dishes, as they covered their fires, shoving back the tables and chairs. As we walked along, through the nearer windows came the sound of steps on the creaking old stairs, then a rustling of straw and the heavy fall of weary bodies, as the v

the night