the noon sun
asked Ramuntcho again , whom these eyes make anxious . `` Yes , sure ! '' So , he is quieted again this time , knowing that if Gracieuse has said and decided something one may count on it . And at once the weather seems to him more beautiful , the Sunday more amusing , life more charming -- The dinner hour calls the Basques now to the houses or to the inns , and , under the light , somewhat gloomy , of the noon sun , the village seems deserted . Ramuntcho goes to the cider mill which the smugglers and pelota players frequent . There , he sits at a table , his cap still drawn over his eyes , with his friends : Arrochkoa , two or three others of the mountains and the somber Itchoua , their chief . A festive meal is prepared for them , with fish of the Nivelle , ham and hares .