There were seven of us in a four-in-hand, four women and three men, one
of whom was on the box seat beside the coachman. We were following, at
a foot pace, broad highway which serpentines along the coast.
Setting out from Etretat at break of day, in order to visit the ruins
of Tancarville, we were still asleep, chilled by the fresh air of the
morning. The women, especially, who were but little accustomed to these
early excursions, let their eyelids fall and rise every moment, nodding
their heads or yawning, quite insensible to the glory of the dawn.
It was autumn. On both sides of the road the bare fields stretched out,
yellowed by the corn and wheat stubble which covered the soil like a
bristling growth of beard. The spongy earth seemed to smoke. Larks were
singing high up in the air, while other birds piped in the bushes.
At length the sun rose in front of us, a bright red on the plane of the
horizon; and as it ascended, growing clearer from minute to minute, the
country seemed to awake, to smile, to shake and stretch itself, like a
young girl who is leaving her bed in her white airy chemise. The Count
d'Etraille, who was seated on the box, cried:
"Look! look! a hare!" and he pointed toward the left, indicating a
piece of hedge. The leveret threaded its way along, almost concealed by
the field, only its large ears visible. Then it swerved across a deep
rut, stopped, again pursued its easy course, changed its direction,
stopped anew, disturbed, spying out every danger, and undecided as to
the route it should take. Suddenly it began to run, with great bounds
from its hind legs, disappearing finally in a large patch of beet-root.
All the men had woke up to watch the course of the beast.