awakened, made disquiet and in revolt.

Silence has followed the tale, and Itchoua, discontented with the effect
of it, proposes a song in order to change the course of ideas.

The purely material well-being which comes after dinner, the cider which
has been drunk, the cigarettes which are lighted and the songs that
begin, bring back quickly confident joy in these children's heads. And
then, there are in the band the two brothers Iragola, Marcos and Joachim,
young men of the mountain above Mendiazpi, who are renowned extemporary
speakers in the surrounding country and it is a pleasure to hear them, on
any subject, compose and sing verses which are so pretty.

"Let us see", says Itchoua, "you, Marcos, are a sailor who wishes to pass
his life on the ocean and seek fortune in America; you, Joachim, are a
farm hand who prefers not to quit his village and his soil here. Each of
you will discuss alternately, in couplets of equal length, the pleasures
of his trade to the tune--to the tune of the 'Iru Damacho'. Go on."

They looked at each other, the two brothers, half turned toward each
other on the oak bench where they sit; an instant of reflection, during
which an imperceptible agitation of the eyelids alone betrays the working
of their minds; then, brusquely Marcos, the elder, begins, and they will
never stop. With their shaven cheeks, their handsome profiles, their
chins which advance somewhat imperiously above the powerful muscles of
the neck, they recall, in their grave immobility, the figures engraved on
the Roman medals. They sing with a certain effort of the throat, like the
muezzins in the mosques, in high tones. When one has finished his
couplet, without a second of hesitation or silence, the other begins;
more and more their minds are animated and inflamed. Around the