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We met handsome, up-standing peasants in red or blue beréts, singing melodiously in patois Provençal, perhaps as they walked beside their string of stout cart-horses. And the songs, and the dark eyes of the singers, and the wonderful horned harness which the noble beasts wore with dignity, all seemed to answer us: "Yes, you are in Provence."
And when she buys a flannel shirt, a six-inch strip of the stuff, for future mending, is always included in the price. But with all this economy there is an air of comfort, a complete absence of squalor. In cold weather the school-girls wear snug hoods, or little fur turbans; and boys have the picturesque and almost indestructible bérets of cloth or corduroy.
Two dripping, outstretched hands, two berets doffed, two picturesque giants bowing low, with a Frenchman's grace this, on the Trouville sands, was the last act of this little comedy of our landing on the coast of France. The Trouville beach was as empty as a desert.
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