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 spanned the clear, noisy stream. Beyond it the road branched in three directions. Lucy stood undecided, and looked around her.

A sacristan and a young priest and ministrants with lamps passed by. They crossed the bridge, and turned to walk along the stream.

She followed them.

It was in the quarter of low houses, covered with shingles or straw, the small windows frequently pasted up with paper. On the threshold stood slatternly, wizened women gossiping about their husbands, their sorrows, their hopes. Half-naked, dirty children were wallowing in the dust of the road. White geese, a dirty pig, and a flock of chickens were running about noisily. There was an intense odor of farm-yards and filth. This village quarter is part of the town, yet separated from it. It has its own life, its own elders, its distinet interests, and does not busy itself concerning the town, just as the town pays no attention to it.