"Well, it was so dark I could scarcely see, but he seemed very tall and thin, and not strong; with a face as though he kept Lent perpetually. He seemed about thirty, with a very gentle expression."
"I hear that he comes from Auvergne, from the mountains where the folks are buried in snow for two-thirds of the year."
"How awful! Well, it will be a pleasant change for him to come here."
"Yes, indeed! You know, I suppose, that he is called Madeleine?"
"No. Madeline?"
"Madeline, Madeleine. Well, at all events, it isn't a man's name."
"I daresay he'll come and see us in the vineyards. Macqueron promised that he would bring him."
"Ah! Well, we must watch for him."
The carts drew up at the foot of the hill-side, along the road that skirted the Aigre. Presently in every little vineyard the women were busily at work amid the lines of stakes, bending down and cutting off the grapes with which they filled their baskets. The men had enough to do in emptying the women's baskets into their own, which they carried on their backs and emptied into the open casks. When all the casks of a cart were full, the vehicle was driven off; its load was discharged into the vat, and then the casks were brought back to be filled again.
There was such a heavy dew that morning that the dresses of the women were speedily soaked through. Fortunately, however, the weather was very fine, and the sun soon dried them again. There had been no rain for three weeks, and the grapes, about which the greatest fears had been entertained, had suddenly ripened and sweetened. Thus they were all in high spirits that fine morning, grinning and bawling, and indulging in most indelicate jokes which made the girls wriggle.