In the field beyond the house the sanitars had pitched their tents.
I walked out into the little garden--a charming place with yew hedges, a lichen-covered well and old thick apple-trees, and here I found an old man in a broad-brimmed straw hat tending the bees.

The hives were open and he was working with a knife whilst the bees hung in a trembling hovering cloud about him.

I spoke to him but he paid no attention to me at all.

I watched him then spoke again; he straightened himself then looked at me for a moment with eyes full of scorn.

Words of fury, of abuse perhaps, seemed to tremble on his lips, then shaking his head he turned his back upon me and continued his work.