all the corners of that land of shade and of rain.
The ferns which, in the autumn, have so warm a rusty color, were now,
in this April, in the glory of their greenest freshness and covered the
slopes of the mountains as with an immense carpet of curly wool, where
foxglove flowers made pink spots. In a ravine, the torrent roared under
branches. Above, groups of oaks and of beeches clung to the slopes,
alternating with prairies; then, above this tranquil Eden, toward the
sky, ascended the grand, denuded peak of the Gizune, sovereign hill of
the region of the clouds. And one perceived also, in the background, the
church and the houses--that village of Etchezar, solitary and perched
high on one of the Pyrenean cliffs, far from everything, far from
the lines of communication which have revolutionized and spoiled the
lowlands of the shores; sheltered from curiosity, from the profanation
of strangers, and living still its Basque life of other days.

Ramuntcho's awakenings were impregnated, at this window, with peace and
humble serenity. They were full of joy, his awakenings of a man engaged,
since he had the assurance of meeting Gracieuse at night at the promised
place. The vague anxieties, the undefined sadness, which accompanied
in him formerly the daily return of his thoughts, had fled for a time,
dispelled by the reminiscence and the expectation of these meetings;
his life was all changed; as soon as his eyes were opened he had the
impression of a mystery and of an immense enchantment, enveloping him in
the midst of this verdure and of these April flowers. And this peace of
spring, thus seen every morning, seemed to him every time a new thing,
very different from what it had been in the previous years, infinitely
sweet to his heart and voluptuous to his flesh, having unfathomable and
ravishing depths.

CHAPTER XIII.

It is Easter night, after the village bells have ceased to mingle in the
air so many holy vibrations that came from Spain and from France.

Seated on the bank of the Bidassoa, Ramuntcho and Florentino watch the
arrival of a bark. A great silence now, and the bells sleep. The tepid
twilight has been prolonged and, in breathing, one feels the approach of
summer.

As soon as the night falls, it must appear from the coast of Spain, the
smuggling bark, bringing the very prohibited phosphorus. And, without
its touching the shore, they must go to get that merchandise, by
advancing on foot in the bed of the