was easily one that might have been the path of warriors; the walls,
still lofty on the side nearest the town, bristled with a turret or a
bastion to remind us Coutances had not been set on a hill for mere
purposes of beauty. The ramparts of the old fortifications had been
turned into a broad promenade. Even as we jolted past, beneath the
great breadth of the trees' verdure we could see how gloriously the
prospect widened--the country below reaching out to the horizon like
the waters of a sea that end only in indefiniteness.

The city itself seemed to grow out of the walls and the trees. Here and
there a few scattered houses grouped themselves as if meaning to start
a street; but a maze of foliage made a straight line impossible.
Finally a large group of buildings, with severe stone faces, took a
more serious plunge away from the vines; they had shaken themselves
free and were soon soberly ranging themselves into the parallel lines
of narrow city streets.

It was a pleasant surprise to find that, for once, a Norman blouse had
told the truth; for here were the people of Coutances coming up from
the fields to prove it. In all these narrow streets a great multitude
of people were passing us; some were laden with vines, others with
young forest trees, and still others with rude garlands of flowers. The
peasant women's faces, as the bent figures staggered beneath a young
fir-tree, were purple, but their smiles were as gay as the wild flowers
with which the stones were thickly strewn. Their words also were as
rough:

"_Diantre--mais c'e lourd!_"

"_E-ben, e toi, tu n' bougeons point, toi!_"