On the right, close to the road, was an inn, with a four-wheeled cartat the door, a large bundle of hop-poles, a plough, a heap of driedbrushwood near a flourishing hedge, lime smoking in a square hole,and a ladder suspended along an old penthouse with straw partitions. A young girl was weeding in a field, where a huge yellow poster,probably of some outside spectacle, such as a parish festival,was fluttering in the wind. At one corner of the inn, beside a poolin which a flotilla of ducks was navigating, a badly paved path plungedinto the bushes. The wayfarer struck into this.
After traversing a hundred paces, skirting a wall of thefifteenth century, surmounted by a pointed gable, with bricks setin contrast, he found himself before a large door of arched stone,with a rectilinear impost, in the sombre style of Louis XIV., flankedby two flat medallions. A severe facade rose above this door;a wall, perpendicular to the facade, almost touched the door,and flanked it with an abrupt right angle. In the meadowbefore the door lay three harrows, through which, in disorder,grew all the flowers of May. The door was closed. The two decrepitleaves which barred it were ornamented with an old rusty knocker.
The sun was charming; the branches had that soft shivering of May,which seems to proceed rather from the nests than from the wind. A brave little bird, probably a lover, was carolling in a distractedmanner in a large tree.