n bands formed by the
vine leaves, and of yellow ribbon represented by the stubble.

Men and women stooping down among the vines, were cutting the bunches of
grapes, which they then threw to the bottom of large baskets. My uncle and
I walked slowly through the stubble. As we passed along, the vintagers
turned their heads and greeted us. My uncle sometimes stopped to speak to
some of the oldest of the labourers.

"Heh! Father Andre," he said, "are the grapes thoroughly ripe? Will the
wine be good this year?"

And the countryfolk, raising their bare arms, displayed the long bunches,
which were as black as ink, in the sun; and when the grapes were pressed
they seemed to burst with abundance and strength.

"Look, Mr. Cure," they exclaimed, "these are small ones. There are some
weighing several pounds. We have not had such a task these ten years."

Then they returned among the leaves. Their brown jackets formed patches in
the verdure. And the women, bareheaded, with small blue handkerchiefs
round their necks, were stooping down singing. There were children rolling
in the sun, in the stubble, giving utterance to shrill laughter and
enlivening this open-air workshop with their turbulency. Large carts
remained motionless at the edge of the field waiting for the grapes; they
stood out prominently against the clear sky, whilst men went and came
unceasingly, carrying away full baskets, and bringing back empty ones.

I confess that in the centre of this field, I had feelings of pride. I
heard the ground producing beneath my feet; ripe age ran all powerful in
the veins of the vine, and loaded the air with great puffs of it. Hot
blood coursed in my flesh, I was as if elevated by the fecundity
overflowing from the soil and ascending within me. The labour of this
swarm of work-people was my doing, these vines were my children; this
entire farm became my large and obedient family. I experienced pleasure in
feeling my feet sink into the heavy land.

Then, at a glance, I took in the fields that sloped down to the Durance,
and I was the possessor of those vines, those meadows, that stubble, those
olive-trees. The house stood all white beside the oak-tree walk; the river
seemed like a fringe of silver placed at the edge of the great green
mantle of my pasture-land. I fancied, for a moment, that my frame was
increasing in size, that by stretching out my arms, I would be able to
embrace the entire property, and press it to my breast, tr