The parting day, good-byes to friends here and there; joyful¹ wishes of former soldiers returned from the regiment². Since the morning, a sort of intoxication³ or of fever, and, in front of him, everything unthought-of in life.
 
Arrochkoa, very amiable⁴ on that last day, had offered to drive him in a wagon⁵ to Saint-Jean-de-Luz, and had arranged to go at sunset, in order to arrive there just in time for the night train.
 
The night having come, inexorably, Franchita wished to accompany her son to the square, where the Detcharry wagon was waiting for him, and here her face, despite her will, was drawn⁶ by sorrow, while he straightened himself, in order to preserve the swagger which becomes recruits going to their regiment:
 
“Make a little place for me, Arrochkoa,” she said abruptly⁷. “I will sit between you to the chapel⁸ of Saint-Bitchentcho; I will return on foot—”
 
And they started at the setting sun, which, on them as on all things, scattered⁹ the magnificence of its gold and of its red copper¹⁰.
 
After a wood of oaks, the chapel of Saint-Bitchentcho passed, and the mother wished to remain. From one turn to another, postponing¹¹ every time the great............