ly, that the moment was
rare and might not be regained: then, as much as possible, they should
prolong it--

And at last, they went together to take to Itchoua his Spanish coins. In
two lots, they had been placed in two thick, reddish towels which a boy
and a girl held at each end, and they walked in cadence, singing the
tune of "The Linen Weaver."

How long, clear and soft was that twilight of April!--There were roses
and all sorts of flowers in front of the walls of the venerable, white
houses with brown or green blinds. Jessamine, honeysuckle and linden
filled the air with fragrance. For Gracieuse and Ramuntcho, it was
one of those exquisite hours which later, in the anguishing sadness
of awakenings, one recalls with a regret at once heart-breaking and
charming.

Oh! who shall say why there are on earth evenings of spring, and eyes
so pretty to look at, and smiles of young girls, and breaths of perfumes
which gardens exhale when the nights of April fall, and all this
delicious cajoling of life, since it is all to end ironically in
separation, in decrepitude and in death--

CHAPTER XV.

The next day, Friday, was organized the departure for this village where
the festival was to take place on the following Sunday. It is situated
very far, in a shady region, at the turn of a deep gorge, at the foot of
very high summits. Arrochkoa was born there and he had spent there the
first months of his life, in the time when his father lived there as
a brigadier of the French customs; but he had left too early to have
retained the least memory of it.

In the little Detcharry carriage, Gracieuse, Pantchita and, with a long
whip in her hand, Madame Dargaignaratz, her mother, who is to drive,
leave together at the noon angelus to go over there directly by the
mountain route.

Ramuntcho, Arrochkoa and Florentino, who have to settle smuggling
affairs at Saint-Jean-de-Luz, go by a roundabout way which will bring
them to Erribiague at night, on the train which goes from Bayonne to
Burguetta. To-day, all three are heedless and happy; Basque caps never
appeared above more joyful faces.

The night is falling when they penetrate, by this little train of
Burguetta, into the quiet, interior country. The carriages are full of
a gay crowd, a spring evening crowd, returning from some festival, young
girls with silk kerchiefs around their necks, young men wearing woolen
caps; all are singing, laughing and kissing. In spite of the inv