And when Luc had finished whittling his stick, they came to a little
nook, where every Sunday they took their meal. They found the
two bricks, which they had hidden in a hedge, and they made a
little fire of dry branches and roasted their sausages on the ends
of their knives.
When their last crumb of bread had been eaten and the last drop
of wine had been drunk, they stretched themselves out on the
grass side by side, without speaking, their half-closed eyes
looking away in the distance, their hands clasped as in prayer,
their red-trousered legs mingling with the bright colors of the wild
flowers.
Towards noon they glanced, from time to time, towards the
village of Bezons, for the dairy maid would soon be coming. Every
Sunday she would pass in front of them on the way to milk her
cow, the only cow in the neighborhood which was sent out to
pasture.
Soon they would see the girl,
coming through the fields,
and it pleased them to watch
the
sparkling
sunbeams
reflected from her shining
pail. They never spoke of her.
They were just glad to see
he