This is a Prix Femina winner, not, however, destined for a very wide sale this side the Atlantic. It is a rustic idyll, with a certain charm in its simplicity, its serenity. A very genuine piece of writing, but, to be quite honest, it has a quietude almost verging on the tepid, and there is little originality, little drama, little action. The picture of the serenity of peasant life, governed by the round of the seasons. The story, what little there is, has been built up on the author's childhood.