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The peasant celebrates the blissful pleasure of a happy harvest with dances and songs, glowing with the liquor of Bacchus. Many complete their enjoyment with sleep. The air tempered by pleasure makes everyone give up dances and songs. It is this season that invites so many to the great enjoyment of a sweet sleep. At dawn the hunters are off to hunt with horns, rifles, and dogs. The wild beast flees, and they follow its trail. Frightened already, and fatigued by the noise of the rifles and dogs, wounded, it threatens languidly to flee, but overcome, it dies.