And on one of the longest walks we ever took from Combray there was a spot where the narrow road emerged suddenly on to an immense plain, closed at the horizon by strips of forest over which rose and stood alone the fine point of Saint-Hilaire's steeple, but so sharpened and so pink that it seemed to be no more than sketched on the sky by the finger-nail of a painter anxious to give to such a landscape, to so pure a piece of 'nature,' this little sign of art, this single indication of human existence.
Eta, Combrayn egiten genituèn txango luzeenetariko batean, bazegoen leku bat, bide gero eta estuagoa ziplo goi-lautada erraldoi batera zabaltzen zenekoa, ostertza oihan-lerroek hertsirik eta oihanen gainetik Saint-Hilaireko kanpandorrearen punta zorrotza ageri zuena soil-soilik, baina hain mehe, hain arrosa kolore, non bai baitzirudien zeruan azazkal batek harramazkatua zuela, paisaiari, erabat natura hutsezko koadro hari, arte-ukitu txiki hura eman nahirik, giza adierazpide bakar.