l is not
dreariness and misery in the Poplars."

The peasant assumed a melancholy look, and, affecting something of
disdain for the fields that had been praised by the traveller, said in
the humblest of tones:

"Senor, this is mine."

"I beg your pardon," replied the gentleman quickly; "now I was going to
put my sickle in your field. Apparently the philosophy of this place is
contagious."

They now descended into a canebrake, which formed the bed of a shallow
and stagnant brook, and, crossing it, they entered a field full of
stones and without the slightest trace of vegetation.

"This ground is very bad," said the young man, turning round to look
at his companion and guide, who had remained a little behind. "You
will hardly be able to derive any profit from it, for it is all mud and
sand."

Licurgo, full of humility, answered:

"This is yours."

"I see that all the poor land is mine," declared the young man, laughing
good-humoredly.

As they were thus conversing, they turned again into the high-road. The
morning sunshine, pouring joyously through all the gates and balconies
of the Spanish horizon, had now inundated the fields with brilliant
light. The wide sky, undimmed by a single cloud, seemed to grow wider
and to recede further from the earth, in order to contemplate it, and
rejoice in the contemplation, from a greater height. The desolate,
treeless land, straw-colored at intervals, at intervals of the color
of chalk, and all cut up into triangles and quadrilaterals, yellow or
black, gray or pale green, bore a fanciful resemblance to a beggar's
cloak spread out in the sun. On that miserable cloak Christianity and
Islamism had fought with each other epic battles. Glorious fields, in
truth, but the combats of the past had left them hideous!

"I think we shall have a scorching day, Senor Licurgo," said the young
man, loosening his cloak a little. "What a dreary road! Not a single
tree to be seen, as far as the eye can reach. Here everything is in
contradiction. The irony does not cease. Why, when there are no poplars
here, either large or small, should this be called The Poplars?"

Uncle Licurgo did not answer this question because he was listening
with his whole soul to certain sounds which were suddenly heard in the
distance, and with an uneasy air he stopped his beast, while he explored
the road and the distant hills with a gloomy look.

"What is the matter?" asked the traveller, stopping his horse al