When they are not so uncanny in their outlines, the
trees will appear like clipped poodles standing upon their hind legs, or
they will suddenly assume the character of a grove of palm trees. After a
long stretch of this sort of country, it is pleasant to pass through some
sleeping village where there are just two or three lighted windows to show
that there are still a few people awake besides oneself in this lonely
country. I can imagine that the village of Hyenville has some claims to
beauty. I know at least that it lies in a valley, watered by the river
Sienne, and that the darkness allowed me to see an old stone bridge, with a
cross raised above the centre of the parapet. Soon after this I began to
descend the hill that leads into Coutances. A bend in the road, as I was
rapidly descending, brought into view a whole blaze of lights, and I felt
that here at last there were people and hotels, and an end to the ghostly
sights of the open country. Then I came to houses, but they were all quite
dark, and there was not a single human being in sight. Following this came
a choice of streets without a possibility of knowing which one would lead
in the direction of the hotel I was hoping to reach; but my perplexity was
at length relieved by the advent of a tall youth whose cadaverous features
were shown up by the street lamp overhead.
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