Doubtless the village snatches this half-hour for its siesta. There is a
song, however, inside one of the cafes, with a burden in which several
voices join. A girl goes through the street, sheltered under her great
bundle of freshly cut grass. By and by the song ceases, and two young
peasants come out of the cafe, a little affected by liquor, in their
shirt-sleeves and bare feet, with their trousers tucked up. They resume
their song in the street, and dance along, one's arm around his fellow's
neck, his own waist grasped by the other's arm. They whirl one another
quite round about, and come down upon their feet. Meeting a village maid
coming quietly along, they dance up and intercept her for a moment, but
give way to her sobriety of aspect. They pass on, and the shadow soon
begins to spread from one side of the street, which presently fills
again, and becomes once more, for its size, the noisiest place I ever
knew.
We had quite a tolerable dinner at this ugly inn, where many preceding
travellers had written their condemnatory judgments, as well as a few
their favorable ones, in pencil on the walls of the dining-room.
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