Perhaps he, too, had some such
regret, for we had had a long talk, and he may have tired out all his other
listeners, especially those of his own family. When a man has grown old
and is near the end, it would often be better for him to go out into the
wilderness and talk to the rocks and trees than to repeat the stories of
his life upon his own hearth-stone. Before I left the peasant fetched a
bottle, which he only brought out on rare occasions, and insisted upon my
drinking a parting glass with him.
I passed through another hamlet where there was a high wooden cross. There
were walnut-trees, and men were knocking down the nuts. The women here wore
wide-brimmed black straw hats over white caps. I soon left these figures
behind, and was alone in a birch-wood, where there were many yellow leaves
between me and the blue sky. Then I met the road to Neuvic, and following
it came to the Artaud, a tributary of the Dordogne, threading its way
through deep ravines, amidst wild rocks, dark woods, and bracken-covered
steeps. The road crossed the ravine upon a bridge of three arches.
The scene was one to raise the mind above common things. The stream rushed
madly down the rocky chasm with a mighty roar, now losing itself in the
leafy vaults of overhanging trees, now reappearing like a torrent of fire
where the glorious lustre of the September sun struck it and mingled with
it.
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