ular phalanx,
while a skilful manoeuver of his companions forms them soon in good
order behind him. Often, after vain efforts, the exhausted leader
relinquishes the guidance of the caravan; another comes forward, tries
in his turn, and yields his place to a third, who finds the breeze, and
continues the march in triumph. But what cries, what reproaches, what
protests, what wild curses or anxious questionings are exchanged in an
unknown tongue amongst these winged pilgrims!

Sometimes, in the resonant night, you can hear these sinister noises
whirling for a long time above the housetops, and as you can see
nothing, you feel, despite your efforts, a kind of dread and kindred
discomfort, until the sobbing multitude is lost in boundless space.

There are other noises too which belong to this time of year, and which
sound usually in the orchards. Gathering the fruit is not yet over, and
the thousand unaccustomed cracklings make the tree seem alive. A branch
groans as it bends beneath a burden which has reached, of a sudden,
the last stage of growth; or perhaps an apple breaks from the twig, and
falls on the damp earth at your feet with a dull sound. Then you hear
rush by, brushing the branches and the grass, a creature you cannot
see; it is the peasant's dog, that prowling and uneasy rover, at once
impudent and cowardly, always wandering, never sleeping, ever seeking
you know not what, spying upon you, hiding in the brush, and taking
flight at the sound of a falling apple, which he thinks a stone that you
are throwing at him.

It is during those nights, nights misty and gray, that the hemp-dresser
tells his weird stories of will-o'-the-wisps and milk-white hares, of
souls in torment and wizards changed to wolves, of witches' vigils at
the cross-roads, and screech-owls, prophetesses of the graveyard. I
remember passing the early hours of such a night while the hemp-dressing
was going on, and the pitiless strokes, interrupting the dresser's story
at its most awful place, sent icy shivers through our veins. And often
too the good man continued his story as he worked, and four or five
words were lost, terrible words, no doubt, which we dared not make him
repeat, and whose omission added a mystery yet more fearful to the
dark mysteries of the story which had gone before. It was in vain the
servants warned us that it was too late to stay without doors, and that
bedtime had sounded for us long since; they too were dying to hear m