They don't dance; they merely turn; they don't sing; they only whistle.

That very evening we went to a neighbouring village to be present at the inauguration of a threshing-floor.

Two _biniou_ players were stationed on top of the wall surrounding the yard, and played continuously while two long lines of men and women, following in one anothers' footsteps, trotted around the place and described several figures.

The lines would turn, break up and form again at irregular intervals.

The heavy feet of the dancers struck the ground without the slightest attempt at rhythm, while the shrill notes of the music succeeded one another rapidly and with desperate monotony.