of sunshine poured in; then I climbed out on the roof, and with elbows
resting upon the sun-warmed old slate tiles overgrown with golden
mosses, I would read my book.

Around me, on this same roof, thousands of Agen plums were drying. This
fruit, intended for winter use, was spread out on mats made of reeds;
warmed through and through by the sun and thoroughly dried they were
delicious; their fragrance, too, was exquisite and it impregnated the
whole garret. The bees and the wasps who, like me, ate them at their
pleasure, tumbled on their backs and extended their legs in the air,
overcome seemingly by the cloying sweetness of the fruit and the heat
of the day. And on the neighboring roofs, between the old gothic gables,
there were similar reed mats covered with these same plums, all visited
by myriads of buzzing wasps and bees.

One could also see from here the two streets that came together in front
of my uncle's house; they were lined with mediaeval dwellings, and each
terminated at an arched door that was cut in the high red stone wall
that had formerly served as a fortification. The village was hot and
drowsy and silent, the heat of the mid-summer sun made it torpid; but
one could hear innumerable chickens and ducks scratching and pecking
at the sun-baked dirt in the streets. And far away in the distance the
mountains pierced the cloudless blue of the heavens with their sunny
heights.

I read Telemaque in very small doses; two or three pages a day was
generally enough to satisfy my curiosity and to ease my conscience
for the day; that task over, I went down hurriedly to find my little
friends, and we would set out on a trip to the woods and vineyards.