They are well-known travelers there, Arrochkoa and Ramuntcho, and while men are lighting the fire for them they sit near an antique, mullioned window, which overlooks the square of the ball-game and the church; they see the tranquil, little life of the day ending in this place so separated from the world.
On this solemn square, the children practice the national game; grave and ardent, already strong, they throw their pelota against the wall, while, in a singing voice and with the needful intonation, one of them counts and announces the points, in the mysterious tongue of the ancestors.

Around them, the tall houses, old and white, with warped walls, with projecting rafters, contemplate through their green or red windows those little players, so lithe, who run in the twilight like young cats.

And the carts drawn by oxen return from the fields, with the noise of bells, bringing loads of wood, loads of gorse or of dead ferns--The night falls, falls with its peace and its sad cold.

Then, the angelus rings--and there is, in the entire village, a tranquil, prayerful meditation-- Then Ramuntcho, silent, worries about his destiny, feels as if he were a prisoner here, with his same aspirations always, toward something unknown, he knows not what, which troubles him at the approach of night.
And his heart also fills up, because he is alone and without support in the world, because Gracieuse is in a situation different from his and may never be given to him.
But Arrochkoa, very brotherly this time, in one of his good moments, slaps him on the shoulder as if he had understood his reverie, and says to him in a tone of light gaiety: "Well! it seems that you talked together, last night, sister and you--she told me about it--and that you are both prettily agreed!--" Ramuntcho lifts toward him a long look of anxious and grave interrogation, which is in contrast with the beginning of their conversation: "And what do you think," he asks, "of what we have said ?" "Oh, my friend," replied Arrochkoa, become more serious also, "on my word of honor, it suits me very well--And even, as I fear that there shall be trouble with mother, I promise to help you if you need help--" And Ramuntcho's sadness is dispelled as a little dust on which one has blown.

He finds the supper delicious, the inn gay.