than this traveller's blouse, but the absence on collar
and sleeves of the arabesques in white or red thread, the pride of all
village dandies, was sufficient for one to realize that this was not a
fancy costume.

His expressive, but not handsome face was dark, it is true, but it did
not look as if wind or sun had contributed to its complexion; it seemed
rather to have lost by a sedentary life something of the southern
carnation, which had ended by blending these warmer tints into a
dead uniform pallor. Finally, if, as one may suppose after different
diagnoses, this person had the slightest desire to play the role of
Tyrcis or Amintas, his white hand, as carefully cared for as a pretty
woman's, would have been sufficient to betray him. It was evident that
the man was above his costume; a rare thing! The lion's ears pierced the
ass's skin this time.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon; the sky, which had been overcast
all the morning, had assumed, within a few moments, a more sombre
aspect; large clouds were rapidly moving from south to north, rolled one
over another by an ominous wind. So the traveller, who had just entered
the wildest part of the valley, seemed very little disposed to admire
its fine vegetation and romantic sites. Impatient to reach the end of
his journey, or fearing the approaching storm, he quickened his steps;
but this pace was not kept long. At the end of a few moments, having
crossed a small clearing, he found himself at the entrance of a lawn
where the road divided in two directions, one continuing to skirt the
river banks, the other, broader and better built, turning to the left
into a winding ravine.

Which of these two roads should he follow? He did not know. The profound
solitude of the place made him fear that he might not meet any one who
could direct him, when the sound of a psalm vigorously chanted reached
his ears from the distance. Soon it became more distinct, and he
recognized the words, 'In exitu Israel de Egypto', sung at the top of
the lungs by a voice so shrill that it would have irritated the larynx
of any of the sopranos at the Opera. Its vibrating but sharp tones
resounded so clearly in the dead silence of the forest that a number of
stanzas were finished before the pious musician came in sight. At last
a drove of cattle appeared through the trees which bordered the road on
the left, walking with a slow, grave step; they were driven by a little
shepherd about nine or ten