Above, the rock was
lost in a steep wilderness of trees and dense undergrowth, which met the
radiant sky somewhere where the eye could not follow. The bell-like tinkle
of water out of sight was the only sound until I heard a patter-patter of
webbed feet coming along the road. A flock of geese were moving homeward,
followed by a woman, whose feet were as bare as theirs, and whose eyes were
fixed upon her distaff and spindle. She would not have noticed me had not
the birds, true to their ancient reputation, given the alarm.
A little later I had left the shadow of the wooded rocks and was on the
margin of the river, which spread out broadly here between its shelving
banks of pebbly shingle. Then, to reach by the shortest way the village
where I intended to pass the night, I had to turn once more from the water
and cross some wooded hills. Here the jays mocked at the solemnity of the
evergreen oaks, and the dark forest echoed as with the laughter of fiends.
Grolejac was the curious name of the village I was seeking, and which I at
length found partly on a hill and partly in the valley of the Dordogne.
Chance taking me to a house that bore the sign of an inn, although it
was at the back of a farm-yard, I thought I might as well stop there as
anywhere else.
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