The only task required of me during my vacation was that I should read from Fenelon's Telemaque (my education, you see, was a little out of date). My copy of the work was composed of several small volumes. Strangely enough, it was not irksome to me. I could image to myself distinctly the land of Greece with its white marble temples and its bright sky, and I had a conception of pagan antiquity¹ that was almost as vivid (if not so correct) as Fenelon's: Calypso and her nymphs enchanted² me.  
Every day, in order to read, I hid myself from the Peyrals, either in my uncle's garden or in the garret of his house, my two favorite hiding-places.
 
This garret, under the high Louis XIII roof, extended the full length of the house. The shutters⁴ of the place were seldom opened, and there was here, in consequence, almost perpetual twilight⁵. The old things, belonging to a bygone century, lying there under the dust and cobwebs attracted me from the first day; and, little by little, the habit of slipping up there with my Telemaque had grown upon me. I usually stole up after the noon dinner, secure in the thought that no one would dream of looking for me there. At this noon hour of hot and radiant sunshine, the garret, by contrast, was almost as dark as night. Noiselessly I would throw open a shutter³ of one of the dormer windows and a flood of sunshine poured in; then I climbed out on the roof, and with elbows resting upon the sun-warmed old slate⁶ tiles overgrown with golden mosses⁷, I would read my book.
 
Around me, on this same roof, thousands of Agen plums were drying. This fruit, intended for winter use, was spread out on mats made of reeds; warmed through and through by the sun and thoroughly⁸ dried they were delicious; their fragrance⁹, too, was exquisite¹⁰ and it impregnated the whole garret. The bees and the wasps¹¹ who, like me, ate them at their pleasure, tumbled on their backs and extended their legs in the air, overcome seemingly by the cloying¹² sweetness of the fruit and the heat of the day. And on the neighboring roofs, between the old gothic gables, there were similar reed mats covered with these same plums, all visited by myriads¹³ of buzzing wasps and bees.
 
One could also see from here the two streets that came together in front of my uncle's house; they were lined with mediaeval dwellings¹⁴, and each terminated at an arched door that was cut in the high red stone wall that had formerly¹⁵ served as a fortification. The village was hot and drowsy¹⁶ and silent, the heat of the mid-summer sun made it torpid¹⁷; but one could hear innumerable chickens and ducks scratching and pecking at the sun-baked dirt in the streets. And far away in the distance the mountains pierced the cloudless blue of the heavens with their sunny heights.
 
I read Telemaque in very small doses; two or three pages a day was generally enough to satisfy my curiosity and to ease my conscience for the day; that task over, I went down hurriedly to find my little friends, and we would set out on a trip to the woods and vineyards.
 
My uncle's garden, my other place of retreat, was not attached to the house, but was situated¹⁸, as were all the other ones in ............