sun of noon
There then , they talk at length in a low voice , Arrochkoa with Pantchika , Ramuntcho with Gracieuse . What can they be saying , talking so much and so quickly ? Although their accent is less chanted than that of the highland , which astonished them yesterday , one would think they were speaking scanned stanzas , in a sort of music , infinitely soft , where the voices of the boys seem voices of children . What are they saying to one another , talking so much and so quickly , beside this torrent , in this harsh ravine , under the heavy sun of noon ? What they are saying has not much sense ; it is a sort of murmur special to lovers , something like the special song of the swallows at nesting time . It is childish , a tissue of incoherences and repetitions . No , what they are saying has not much sense -- unless it be what is most sublime in the world , the most profound and truest things which may be expressed by terrestrial words .