m
our rooms, watching the shadows gather about the blue mountains and
listening to the chirping of the crickets.

The next day, the third of our frequently interrupted journey, we hired
a funny little carriage to take us to the town, one much out of the line
of travel at that time, where our cousins lived.

For five hours we rode through passes and defiles--for me they were
enchanted hours. Not only was there the novelty of the mountains, but
everything here was unlike our home surroundings. The soil and the
rocks were a bright red instead of, as in our village, a dazzling white
because of the underlying chalk beds. And at home everything was flat
and low, it seemed as if nothing there dared lift itself above the dead
level and break the uniformity of the plains. Here the dwellings, of
reddish hue like the rocks, and built with old gabled ends and ancient
turrets, were perched high up on the hill; the peasants were very
tanned, and they spoke a language I did not understand; I noticed
particularly that the women walked with a free movement of the hips,
unknown to the peasants of our country, as they strode along carrying
upon their heads sheaves of grain and great shining copper vessels. My
whole being vibrated to the charm of the unfamiliar beauty about me, and
I was fascinated by the strange aspect of nature.

Toward evening we reached the little town that marked the end of our
journey. It was situated on the bank of one of those southern rivers
that rush noisily over their shallow beds of white pebbles. The place
still retained its ancient arched gateway and high, pierced ramparts;
the prevailing color of the gothic houses lining its streets was bright
red.

A little perplexed and agitated our eyes sought for the cousins whose
faces were not even known to us through photographs; but since they had
been apprised of our coming they would, no doubt, be at the station to
meet us. Suddenly we saw approaching us a tall young man, and he had
upon his arm a young lady dressed in white muslin. Without the least
hesitation we exchanged glances of recognition: we had found each other.

At their house, on the ground floor, our uncle and aunt welcomed us;
both of them in their old age preserved traces of a once-remarkable
beauty. They lived in an ancient house of the time of Louis XIII; it
was built in an angle, and was surrounded by those porches that are so
frequently seen in small, southern mountain towns.

When we ente