After an hour of rain and wind, against which I had put up a brisk fight, as I came to the edge of the Montjouvain pond, and reached a little hut, roofed with tiles, in which M. Vinteuil's gardener kept his tools, the sun shone out again, and its golden rays, washed clean by the shower, blazed once more in the sky, on the trees, on the wall of the hut, and on the still wet tiles of the roof, which had a chicken perching upon its ridge.
Beraren aurka gogotsu borrokatua nintzèn ordubeteko eurite eta haizete baten ostean, Montjouvaineko urmaelaren ertzera iristen ari nintzelarik, Vinteuil jaunaren lorezainak bere baratze-tresnak pilatuta zeuzkàn teilaz estalitako txabola baten aurreko aldera, berragertu berria zen eguzkia, eta haren urreztadura erauntsiaz araztuek dir-dir zegiten berriren berri zeruan, zuhaitzen gainean, txabolaren paretan, beronen teilazko teilatu oraindik bustian, zeinaren gandorrean oilasko bat baitzebilen une hartan firin-faran.