Respectable people take their stand more ceremoniously than the common crowd, and talk business piously.
Farther away is the road, which April's illumination adorns all along the lines of trees with embroidery of shadow and of gold, where bicycles tinkle and carriages rumble echoingly; and the shining river,--those long-drawn sheets of water, whereon the sun spreads sheets of light and scatters blinding points.

Looking along the road, on either side of its stone-hard surface, one sees the pleasant, cultivated earth, the bits of land sewn to each other, and many-hued, brown or green as the billiard cloth, then paling in the distance.
Here and there, on this map in colors, copses bulge forth.

The by-roads are pricked out with trees, which follow each other artlessly and divide the infantile littleness of orchards.
This landscape holds us by the soul.

It is a watercolor now (for it rained a little last night), with its washed stones, its tiles varnished anew, its roofs that are half slate and half light, its shining pavements, water-jeweled in places, its delicately blue sky, with clouds like silky paper; and between two house-fronts of yellow ocher and tan, against the purple velvet of distant forests, there is the neighboring steeple, which is like ours and yet different.

Roundly one's gaze embraces all the panorama, which is delightful as the rainbow.
From the Place, then, where one feels himself so abundantly at home, we enter the church.