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.