olish and
prolonged laughter that I indulged in at the time. Above all I cannot
think of that day without regretting the resplendence of the sun and the
blue sky, a resplendence that I never see now.

As we drew near we were met on our way at the bridge spanning the river,
by our cousins and the Peyrals. I discovered with pleasure that my
little band was complete. We had all grown taller by several inches; but
we found immediately that we were not otherwise changed, we were still
children ready for the same childish games.

At night-fall there was a terrific storm. And while the thunder boomed
around us as if it was bombarding the roof of my uncle's house, and when
all the old stone gargoyles in the village were pouring forth torrents
of water that rushed tumultuously over the black pebbles in the street,
we took refuge, the little Peyrals and I, in the kitchen, and there we
made a racket and joyously danced around in a ring.

It was a very large kitchen, furnished in an old-fashioned way with a
perfect arsenal of burnished copper utensils; every variety of pan and
kettle, shining like pieces of armor, hung on the halls in the order of
their size. It was almost dark, and from the moist earth came the fresh
odor one usually smells after a storm, after a summer rain; and through
the thick iron-barred Louis XIII windows the lurid, green lightning
flashed incessantly and blinded us and compelled us, in spite of
ourselves, to close our eyes. We turned round and round like mad beings,
and sang together: "The star of night whose peaceful light." . . . It
was a sentimental song, never intended for dance music, but we scanned
it drolly and mockingly, and thus made of it an accommodating and
tuneful dance measure. We continued our joyous sport for I do not
know how long a time; we were excited by the noise of the storm and
we whirled around like little dervishes; it was a merry-making in
celebration of my return; it was a fitting way of inaugurating the
holidays; it was a defiance to the Big Ape, and it was an appropriate
prologue to the series of expeditions and childish sports of every kind
that were to recommence, with more ardor than ever, the next day.

CHAPTER LXVIII.

The following morning at daybreak when I awoke, a noisy cadence, to
which I was unaccustomed, fell upon my ears; the neighboring weaver had
already commenced, even with the dawn, to work his ancient loom, and the
musical to and fro of its shutt