The white main road in the
distance was empty, and silent with the digestive silence of Riviera
thoroughfares at noon, when all the world, from millionaire to peasant,
begins to think of the midday meal. Even motors were at rest,
comfortably absorbing petrol and leaving the roads to sleep in peace.
Far off among the trees Vanno caught a glimpse of two men picnicking,
cabdrivers eating their bread and meat and drinking the rough red wine
of the country, while their little _voitures_ stood a few yards away,
the horses well in shade, their faces buried in nose-bags, and a
miniature wolf-like dog asleep on the back of one. As Vanno and the
priest drew nearer both men got up respectfully, wiping their smiling
mouths. They seemed not at all astonished to see the figures in scarlet
and white, with the swinging censer. And indeed it was a common enough
sight in these woods, and elsewhere, the brilliant little procession for
the blessing of houses, or for the last sacrament. The cure knew both
men, for his parish extended from the old village of Roquebrune down to
the outskirts of Mentone on one side and to St. Roman on the other. He
asked one after a new wife, and of the other inquired for the health of
his tiny dog, Pomponette. Nothing would do but the microscopic animal
must be fetched from her ample bed on the horse's back, and displayed
proudly. Her master, a very large dark man, stuck the dog into the
breast of his coat, whence her miniature head protruded like a peculiar
orchid.
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