“No, no! It would grieve me too much. Only you’ll kiss her many times for me. Goodbye! you’re a good fellow! And then I shall never forget that,” he said, slapping his thigh. “Never fear, you shall always have your turkey.”

But when he reached the top of the hill he turned back, as he had turned once before on the road of Saint-Victor when he had parted from her. The windows of the village were all on fire beneath the slanting rays of the sun sinking behind the field. He put his hand over his eyes, and saw in the horizon an enclosure of walls, where trees here and there formed black clusters between white stones; then he went on his way at a gentle trot, for his nag had gone lame.