GJurnell Hmueraitg Hihtary 
 
 3tljaca. BJein fork 
 
 Miss finwe McCarMick 
 
Cornell University Library 
 DC 28.T75 
 
 Spring. .fortnight _jn_ France / _ 
 
 3 1924 028 152 175 
 
II Cornell University 
 B Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924028152175 
 
A SPRING FORTNIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
VJsSsSs'SsUsSsSsSsSsSsSsSs'Ss'Ss'&JSTTV 
 
s«* # » ■»■§■ »» # & 
 
 A 
 f SPRING FORTNIGHT 
 IN FRANCE 
 
 '3f> 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPHINE TOZIER 
 
 -*' 
 
 * 
 
 Author of "Among English Jnns." 
 "Traveller's Handbook" dbc. 
 
 NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 <$> 
 
 
 4 s 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 1907 
 
 Ha 
 
 *«> $"& **§> « 
 
 QOUN-i u. 
 UHlVl i<l;| |. y 
 
Copyright, 1907, by 
 DODD, MEAD & CO. 
 
 # 
 Published October, 1907 
 
* 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEB PAGE 
 
 I Le Mans 1 
 
 II Angers 33 
 
 III Saumur 65 
 
 IV Poitiers 101 
 
 V Argenton 142 
 
 VI Brive 166 
 
 VII ROCAMADOUR 191 
 
 VIII Albi 211 
 
 IX Carcasonne 239 
 
 X Arles 298 
 
 XI Tarascon 330 
 
9J? 9§? 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 The Village of Rocamadour (in colour) Frontispiece 
 
 The Cathedral in Le Mans . . Facing Page 16 
 House of Richard's Queen Beren- 
 
 garia, Le Mans .... " " 30 
 
 Modern Angers — " Place de Rallie- 
 
 MENT " . " " 86 
 
 Old House and Church in Ronce- 
 
 RAY " " 42 
 
 Old Angers 
 
 Walls of the Chateau d'Angers 
 
 and Market Gardens in the 
 
 Moat " " 60 
 
 Within the ChAteau Enclosures. 
 
 Twelfth Century Chapel 
 
 and Birthplace of King. 
 
 Rene 60 
 
 In the Abbey of Fontevraud ... " " 82 
 
 Effigies of the Kings Henry II., 
 
 Richard II., and Queen 
 
 Eleanor of Aquitaine, and 
 
 IsABELLE OF AnGOULEME. Ab- 
 
 bey of Fontevraud ... " ' 90 
 
 Saumur — Maison de la Reine de 
 
 Sicile " 98 
 
 Rock Habitations and a Wanderer's 
 
 Van v " " 98 
 
 ix 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 A Glimpse of Montrieul-Bellay 
 In Poitiers 
 
 As in the Middle Ages . 
 
 A Fortified Doorway 
 
 On the Way to the Cathedral 
 
 A Paticut Poitevin .... 
 A Bit of Poitiers .... 
 Poitiers — An Ancient Dwelling 
 
 The Door upon the Street . 
 
 The Door within the Courtyard 
 
 On the Way to Argenton 
 
 Argenton — The Right and Left 
 
 Bank of the River Creuse 
 
 A Ruined ChAteau of Central 
 
 France 
 
 Rocamadour from the Cahors Road 
 rocamadour 
 
 View of the Valley from a Rock 
 Gallery 
 
 The Court of the Sanctuaries 
 
 The Pilgrim's Steps .... 
 
 The Crumbling Gateway of the 
 Town 
 
 A Terrace 'twixt Heaven and 
 Earth 
 
 The Beggars of Rocamadour 
 
 The Valuable Truffle Hunters 
 In Central France 
 
 A ChAteau Fallen from its High 
 Estate 
 
 A Stretch of Fertile Country 
 
 On His Way to Town 
 
 Old Chateau 
 
 Facing Page 98 
 
 110 
 110 
 110 
 110 
 118 
 
 130 
 130 
 140 
 
 146 
 
 168 
 192 
 
 200 
 200 
 200 
 
 200 
 
 208 
 208 
 208 
 
 212 
 218 
 218 
 218 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 THE 
 
 Between Rocamadour and Albi 
 
 The City of Cohdes . 
 
 A Peasant op Les Causes 
 In Central France 
 
 Where the Hills Close in 
 
 Houses Clustered along 
 
 Bank 
 
 Albi — The View on the Bridge 
 Carcasonne — The Lower Town 
 
 Les Lices 
 
 A Main Street 
 
 Courtyard of H6tel Bernard 
 
 An Undecided Voter . 
 The Cite op Carcasonne 
 
 From the Bridge . 
 
 On the Ramparts . 
 
 At the Porte de l'Aude 
 Carcasonne 
 
 An Old Couple op Market-folk 
 
 A Political Discussion 
 
 A Proud Donkey 
 
 Arles — A Bull Fight in the Arena 
 Arles — The Aliscamps 
 
 A Gallo-Roman Sarcophagus 
 
 The Chapel at the Entrance . 
 
 Allee of the Tombs .... 
 
 A Corner in Arles 
 
 Arles — The Cloister of St. Trophime 
 The Ruins of Mont Majour . 
 Tarascon 
 
 The Domestic Boulevard 
 
 The Market Place .... 
 
 XI 
 
 Facing Page 224 
 224 
 
 " 230 
 
 230 
 " 236 
 
 244 
 
 " 244 
 
 244 
 
 244 
 
 " 260 
 " 260 
 " 260 
 
 280 
 280 
 280 
 300 
 
 308 
 308 
 308 
 314 
 320 
 *' 826 
 
 334 
 334 
 
xii List of Illustrations 
 
 Margot and Robinson on the 
 
 Quay Facing Page 338 
 
 The Tarasque " "338 
 
 The Tarasque Led Forth . . " " 338 
 
 Tarascon from Beaucaire . . " " 338 
 
 Maps 
 
 From Le Mans to Argenton ... " 34 
 
 Argenton to Albi " 142 
 
 From Albi to Marseilles .... " " 240 
 
A SPRING FORTNIGHT IN FRANCE 
 
The interchange between dead memories and present life is 
 the delight of travel. — T. A, SYMONDS 
 
# 
 
 Chapter I 
 
 LE MANS 
 
 j4.NGELA VICTORIA sat in an apartment in 
 Paris surrounded by open trunks, boxes, bags, and 
 baskets, and all that paraphernalia known in the French 
 shops as articles de voyage. Gowns, hats, shoes, and 
 numerous accessories of toilet littered the chairs, over- 
 flowed from the half -open armoire, or lay where they 
 had been carelessly dropped upon the floor. 
 
 Angela was evidently preparing for a journey. Her 
 face wore a troubled look, as in jerky sentences she 
 addressed her sister. 
 
 ! " Well, if you can't go with me, I won't go your 
 way, so I suppose I must go alone! It is very incon- 
 siderate of Aunt Victoria to require your attendance 
 just when I want you! I don't see why she can't wait 
 a few weeks ! " 
 
 " Perhaps San Remo is losing its charm. Can't 
 you travel down there with me, and, after I have com- 
 fortably settled her in whatever place she likes better, 
 we could then take the journey you have planned, only 
 in the contrary direction, working from the bottom of 
 the page to the top ? " 
 
 "No, I want to saunter from spring into summer, 
 not from summer back into spring! If you choose, 
 you may go your way and rush down to Italy and 
 
2 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Aunt Victoria by night and the Rapide. I will meet 
 you there. At this season every bud, flower, and blade 
 is fresh and young. There are no tourist parties wan- 
 dering around ; I have never seen central France in this 
 month, so I would rather travel slowly on in solitude 
 than hurry with you. Perhaps I shall pick up friends 
 by the wayside." 
 
 Angela Victoria settled herself back in the deep 
 chair with a look of determination on her face. Her 
 sister, Georgina, stood in front of her gently waving 
 a telegram she held in her hands. She wasn't listen- 
 ing at all, and went on saying, rather to herself " I 
 can't help myself. Here are the stern commands. I 
 must start on Monday." Then, turning to her sister, 
 she asked : 
 
 " Are you still determined to leave to-morrow? " 
 
 Angela nodded. 
 
 Georgina lifted up her chin with a jerk; a habit she 
 had a of showing displeasure. 
 
 " Very well, if you insist upon going alone, you 
 fortunately speak the language, and have enough grey 
 hairs to protect you," she added, with a tinge of 
 malice. 
 
 Angela glanced rapidly with a light start into a 
 mirror by her side. She expected to see her fifty 
 grey hairs suddenly transformed to fifty thousand, 
 but in spite of Georgina's contempt they were not 
 more conspicuous than formerly among her wavy 
 brown locks; whereupon her happy nature reasserted 
 itself with a bound, and her face beamed with sunny 
 smiles. 
 
Le Mans 3 
 
 " I don't mind the grey hairs. I like them. I shall 
 see that everyone calls me * Madame.' Who knows ! 
 Some one of the friends I meet may bring me back to 
 you riding in an automobile! I'm sure to have an 
 enchanting journey ! I'm glad I look old! " 
 
 Georgina shook her head gravely. Then she be- 
 came emphatic. 
 
 " I can't imagine how you're going to travel with- 
 out me! Of course you will forget your keys; mislay 
 your tickets, always leave your umbrella behind, and 
 lose time everywhere ! " 
 
 But Angela's countenance did not lose its hopeful 
 and sunny expression. She showed no sign of dis- 
 couragement. Indeed, in her innermost soul she re- 
 joiced at the chance to try emancipation from Geor- 
 ginia's cast-iron methods. Notwithstanding, she made a 
 wry face. 
 
 "Even with all these pitfalls you describe, I must 
 be brave and go, because: " Angela pointed im- 
 pressively to her desk where pads, pencils, rubber, and 
 note books were laid out with a careful precision in 
 strong contrast to the confusion of her wardrobe 
 scattered recklessly about the room. 
 
 Georgina smiled, a stern, incredulous smile. 
 
 "A book? " she asked solemnly. 
 
 Angela Victoria had been threatening to write a 
 book ever since she had turned sixteen years. She 
 was now, at thirty-six, no nearer her literary accom- 
 plishment than resulted from buying stores of sta- 
 tionery. For writing materials she had a mania, but 
 as yet they had served no deeper purpose than for 
 
4 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 scribbling bright little notes to all her friends and 
 acquaintances. 
 
 " Pray, what kind of a book is this to be? " ironically 
 pursued her sister. 
 
 "A book of travel," complacently announced An- 
 gela. . 
 
 Then Georgina laughed outright. She had a per- 
 fectly undisguised pity for Angela Victoria's methods 
 of travel. She declared them to be only sentimental 
 lingerings, and contended that all her ideas were in- 
 fluenced by her name. Angela Victoria was not respon- 
 sible for her name. She had inherited it from the old 
 aunt whose telegram was now summoning Georgina away 
 from the self-imposed duty of guardian angel and per- 
 sonal conductor. We all enjoy having a scapegoat, some 
 utterly irresponsible object on which we saddle all our 
 weaknesses, though we continue to cling to them. 
 Angela was not behind her sister in making her name 
 an excuse for her foibles. Georgina, now, was prac- 
 tical, and Georgina was commonplace. Angela Vic- 
 toria was neither. When Georgina travelled she saw 
 everything the guidebook said should be seen; and 
 saw it thoroughly in an incredibly short time. Whereas 
 Angela Victoria journeyed through the world, moaning 
 over every interesting old castle, and dreaming queer 
 dreams about the hearts which had once beat within 
 the ruined walls. Georgina would explore thoroughly 
 every corner, state every date connected with the 
 place, and have its history so firmly wedged in her 
 mind that she could instruct her sister concerning 
 minor details which Angela totally disregarded for 
 
Le Mans 5 
 
 Hours after. And now it was this unsophisticated, im- 
 possible traveller who expected to write a book! 
 
 Georgina became condescending and sweet as sugar. 
 " Chire vrmocente! A book ! You will mention the 
 sights nobody cares for but you, and forget all 
 the important objects your readers ought to see! 
 Now, if I were along, you might manage such a 
 piece of literature! How can you do it without my 
 aid? " 
 
 " I can try," modestly replied Angela slyly. Her 
 self-reliance was increasing by leaps. She rose and 
 shook out her skirts. " Since I must learn to be in- 
 dependent I will now go and get my tickets. I think 
 I shall buy a billet circulaire, or whatever you call 
 the thing. Then I can stop whenever I like." 
 
 Georgina sighed. She was resigned, but alarmed. 
 
 " Then I will stay and attend to your packing," 
 she said, thinking if her sister insisted upon going, 
 wandering off by herself, which was not such an emi- 
 nently perilous experiment, considering that she was 
 approaching middle age and had passed a good slice 
 of her life in France, that the luggage should be of 
 proper dimensions, and that not all the suitable cloth- 
 ing should be left at home while Angela stuffed her 
 trunk with articles she would never need. 
 
 " All you possibly can require I will see put in your 
 small trunk. I will drag the big one with me to 
 Italy." 
 
 " Drag it ! You won't have to drag it ! " declared 
 Angela, putting on her hat while she proudly delivered 
 herself of some words of wisdom ; " voitwre a gallerie 
 
6 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 costs but three francs fifty, if you have but one trunk 
 or ten. You will need to take one for your own bag- 
 gage. You know I never object to paying the rail- 
 way charges. When my trunk is once on the Rapide 
 you never see it again until it's taken out at San 
 Remo. Drag ij ! How recklessly you talk ! " 
 
 She turned a mischievous face toward Georgina as 
 she pulled on her gloves. 
 
 " Are you sure you know where you're going? " 
 asked her sister, waving a pair of silk stockings she 
 had picked up off the floor at Angela, as she was about 
 to vanish out of the door. 
 
 " No," cried Angela, looking back. " I shall de- 
 pend on my good friend, the ticket agent. There is 
 a nice one at the American Express. He will plan for 
 me. If you want to know all about it, meet me in 
 an hour at Chiboust's for tea, and while we eat the 
 best little cakes in Paris you shall hear what your 
 dear sister is going to do." 
 
 Georgina shuddered at such inconsequence, then, 
 her sister being gone, sat down for a minute. Her 
 conscientious, orderly mind was really alarmed at An- 
 gela's f oolish frivolity. But what could she do ! Their 
 rich old aunt, who had been wintering in Italy and 
 whom she was bound to obey, had sent such a peremp- 
 tory message to her to come and settle her, along 
 with a useless but devoted tirewoman, at Italian springs 
 she insisted would save her from death, that Georgina 
 was forced to go. Angela had not been asked for, 
 and as she had long planned to travel in Central 
 France every argument her sister could devise to make 
 
Le Mans 7 
 
 her give up the projected tour met with decided and 
 obstinate resistance. 
 
 " Well," sighed Georgina, while endeavouring vig- 
 orously to straighten out the chaos of clothing in 
 the chamber, " after a few days of solitude, when she 
 finds she can't possibly see the cities without me, she 
 will probably give up the trip and follow." Which 
 observation proves that even our nearest and dearest 
 do not always judge us correctly. 
 
 The next morning very early, with Georgina still 
 in close attendance, Angela drove to the Gare St. 
 Lazare. An open fiacre sufficed for the luggage, which, 
 by Georgina's careful calculation, had been reduced 
 to one useful cabin trunk, a hand-bag, a basket, and 
 an umbrella. 
 
 Georgina looked dubious, like the sky, which was 
 overcast. " It's going to rain all the time," she re- 
 marked, making a last effort at discouragement. 
 
 Little cared Angela Victoria for the dark Paris 
 clouds. She beamed on the contrary. Rain never came 
 when she wanted sunshine; even if the drops were 
 actually falling, her optimistic mind prophesied the 
 clearing. 
 
 " Will you ever be old enough to see things as 
 they really are? " asked her sister as they drove along. 
 With a temperament keen for enjoyment, she never 
 could be old enough to expect sorrow hidden behind 
 every cloud. "What is, is good," was her device, 
 therefore the final wise warnings of her anxious sister 
 were only half heard. 
 
8 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Away she rolled, leaning out smiling at Georgina, 
 who stood on the platform still looking very dubious. 
 
 From Paris to Le Mans the distance by road is 
 two hundred and eleven kilometres. The train, if it 
 is a very fast one, takes about four hours. The high- 
 way is smooth as a floor and without dangerous places, 
 running between waving trees and over pleasant streams, 
 and is an irresistible temptation for those who ride in 
 motor cars to put on full speed. Angela, having 
 no motor car at her command, followed the habit 
 of her mind and rejoiced exceedingly upon being 
 mounted so high and comfortably in the train; she 
 could look over the walls into the fresh spring gardens 
 of Ville d'Avray and see the carpets of violets and 
 tulips, and surprise the bourgeoise families all out that 
 fine morning in their bedroom slippers for a walk on 
 the pebbly paths. No auto scurrying along the 
 grcmde route could enter so intimately into family 
 life, nor could they yet see, as she did, the enchanting 
 panorama from the height of the railway at Surrennes. 
 From the top of the rise near this little railway station 
 she looked down into the deep valley of the earth, 
 shining in its fresh green dress; saw the stately city 
 far over the plain, soft and mysterious in the hazy 
 atmosphere, standing forth from a background of 
 hills where they faded into the dull sky, and watched 
 the broad river glistening and winding off into the 
 far distance. Masses of lilacs and blossoming fruit 
 trees covered the hill from the carriage window to the 
 very bank of the stream. 
 
 " No ! surely one could not see this from a low 
 
Le Mans 9 
 
 motor car ! " was Angela's involuntary exclamation. And 
 it brought forth such immediate response from a de- 
 lightful old lady, who was the only other occupant 
 of the carriage, that a bond of sympathy at once 
 united them. This swelled into confidence at Ver- 
 sailles. They were both enthusiastically revelling in 
 the juicy young green leaves of the princely forest 
 when blackness suddenly curtained the windows. 
 
 " They have tunnelled under the royal springtime," 
 ejaculated Angela. 
 
 " The Republicans, of course ! Toujours la Repub- 
 lique! " answered the old lady, as the daylight came 
 back to show her energetically shrugging her shoulders. 
 
 " Madame is Royaliste? " Angela said gently. 
 
 " Mais! La plus possible! " 
 
 There can be no more delightful companion on any 
 occasion, particularly when shut up in a railway car- 
 riage, than a charming French woman. Angela's new 
 acquaintance richly deserved this title. She was as 
 enchanted with the view they got of the palace at 
 Versailles when they puffed out of the tunnel as was 
 Angela, although they had both seen it before, count- 
 less times. She became fluent with anecdotes about 
 young cadets, her grandchildren, as they rolled past 
 St. Cyr. She chatted about the death of Francis 
 I., and of the great literary gatherings, as they 
 ambled by the Chateau of Ramboullier, as if the his- 
 tory of the Renaissance was but a thing of yesterday. 
 She pointed out with interest the ex-royal forests 
 stretching for leagues beside the train, and spoke pity- 
 ingly of that impotent monarch, Louis XVI., who was 
 
10 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 hunting under these trees while the furies from Paris 
 were marching on to Versailles. 
 
 " II etait notre Roi, mais je crams qu'il fut bien 
 imbecile! " , 
 
 She was as gleeful as Angela herself at seeing the 
 peasants when they jumped loutishly aside to avoid 
 the motor cars which whizzed along the broad high- 
 way running beside the track; she became both ex- 
 cited and curious about the smoke which curled out 
 of the cottage chimneys; she wondered what the peas- 
 ants could be cooking at that time of day; she was 
 inquisitive and anxious about the vegetables growing 
 everywhere, under glass ; she overflowed with conversa- 
 tion, she made Angela feel clever, and together they 
 laughed heartily at that inevitable flat car-wheel always 
 found on French carriages, which she declared sung 
 the little tune, and Angela promptly translated it as 
 " Get-a-bump, get-a-bump." The tender hues of 
 spring were spread all over the land; the moss-grown, 
 thatched roofs, now becoming rare, excited her re- 
 gret. 
 
 " They may not be safe or healthy, that is the 
 modern cry, but I love the thatch, and so does the 
 peasant. It is warm in winter and cool in summer, 
 and picturesque! picturesque! In my youth all the 
 farm houses and cottages were thatched." 
 
 Near the track stood a rough, grey, stone cottage. 
 A deep, soft, green thatched roof almost sweeping the 
 ground covered its rude walls. Two nodding poplars 
 guarded the entrance. Against the gable end was a 
 huge mass of white and purple lilacs. A little peach 
 
Le Mans 11 
 
 tree that was putting forth its pinkest buds stood like 
 a nosegay beside the low door. 
 
 " So they all looked ! Ah ! que c'est beau, la cam- 
 pagne! " 
 
 After they left Chaitres the rain came down in a 
 sheet, sending the peasants plodding along with big 
 cotton umbrellas raised, and causing the motorists to 
 crawl into their shells, which looked to the contented 
 occupants of the secure high-swung railroad carriage 
 like ugly brown beetles scurrying off to shelter. But 
 as the train rolled on the dark clouds went off in the 
 direction of Paris, and the sky of Maine was clear and 
 bright before they reached their destination. 
 
 Shut up in the limited space of a compartlwent pour 
 dames seules, congenial souls are apt to grow confi- 
 dentially chatty. So it now happened. The old lady 
 told her name, Madame de Grandmaison, and said she 
 was on her way to visit a sister who lived in the old 
 family home at Le Mans ; then, without impertinent 
 curiosity, rather with pleasing interest, she drew forth 
 from Angela that her solitary journey was for pleas- 
 ure, and that she had learned her French in the Rue 
 de Varennes. 
 
 "Ah! Then you must have been at school with my 
 sister's daughter, Marie de Lalorge! She would have 
 been just your age had she lived. Poor girl! It is 
 now two years since she was taken from us, leaving 
 a devoted husband and two lovely children ! " 
 
 How is it that in this contracted world by some 
 magic we always come upon those who have some con- 
 nection with our past? 
 
12 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Angela had not only known Marie at school, but 
 remembered her with affection. 
 
 " Then you will not leave Le Mans without coming 
 to see my sister. She is an invalid, or she would call 
 upon you. Marie's children are now with her. Come 
 for gouter. What you call ' the tea.' " Madame 
 laughed at she pronounced the English words. 
 
 The cordial invitation was accepted with alacrity. 
 The necessary directions were given, and Angela prom- 
 ised to come at five o'clock. What would Georgina 
 have said if she suspected how quickly her sister would 
 meet with friends ! 
 
 The journey ended all too soon. To Angela it 
 seemed as if they had scarcely left Paris before they 
 arrived in the station at Le Mans. 
 
 " ' Le Dauphin ' is the best hotel," the old lady had 
 said in answer to an inquiry. "Au revoir until five 
 o'clock." 
 
 Angela found the 'bus, and as she mounted into it 
 fondly imagined that the royalistic tendencies of her 
 new friend might have influenced her in praise of the 
 hotel. " Dear Madame La Baronne, there will never 
 be a dauphin again," she sighed, as they drove up to 
 the door, when behold, carved upon the face of the 
 inn before which they stopped appeared two wriggling 
 fishes. Royalty had nothing whatever to do with this 
 matter. Although it was a blow to her romantic senti- 
 ment, she accepted calmly dolphins instead of a king's 
 son, and trotted contentedly up the well-worn staircase, 
 following the valet whom the smiling landlady delegated 
 to conduct " Madame " to her room. 
 
Le Mans 13 
 
 Angela's experience with hotels in small provincial 
 towns was exceedingly meagre. She had spent many 
 years of her life in Paris, both in and out of school; 
 she had several times raced through the chateaux 
 country with American friends, putting up at cara- 
 vanseries especially adapted to the luxurious tastes of 
 foreigners. She was prepared now for new experi- 
 ences, but the shabby corridor, the stone stair covered 
 with worn carpet, the ugly iron balustrade, and the 
 generally inartistic air of the dull hallways depressed 
 even her buoyant soul. Up to the door of the room 
 which the servant threw open for her a single step led 
 from the passageway. She followed the man, and at 
 first glance her good spirits returned. An inlaid floor 
 polished until it shone was under her feet. The room 
 was furnished with beautiful mahogany of a colour 
 that only age can give. Indeed, it was as ancient as 
 the hotel itself, which began life as an inn just before 
 the Revolution. A desk on one side of the room made 
 Angela green with envy, and a touch of colour was 
 supplied to the whole apartment by the yellow silk 
 coverlid piled up on the high bed of a truly classic 
 form. 
 
 " I hope Madame will be comfortable here," said 
 the servant kindly, as he threw open the long windows 
 leading to a balcony. " Madame desires nothing 
 more? " 
 
 Madame desired nothing at all but to look out over 
 the square. As he left her, she stepped out to gaze 
 about. La Place de la Republique in Le Mans is 
 surrounded by hotels and cafes; the usual prominent 
 
14 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Bureau des Pastes et Telegraphes bobs up in one cor- 
 ner, a large building architecturally uninteresting; 
 on one side of the square looms an old church tower, 
 the only picturesque object in view. A few trees grow 
 in turfless soil; a gay kiosk and tramway station 
 adorned with motley posters in glaring colours is in 
 the centre, while a paved roadway, broad and clean, 
 surrounds the square. Angela looked down on a 
 dull crowd of peasants lounging in the street and talk- 
 ing vociferously. A queer individual, who raced round 
 and round the entire square coatless and hatless, carry- 
 ing a small French flag on a long slender pole, excited 
 but indifferent interest from the crowd. He may have 
 been engaged in a walking match against time, or 
 perhaps working out a wager. The valet, who arrived 
 the second time with a pan of hot water, could tell 
 her nothing. He only lifted his shoulders when Angela 
 questioned him and said: 
 
 " There are people like that ! ' II y a des gens comme 
 fa!'" 
 
 Which either meant nothing, or a great deal. 
 
 Angela Victoria questioned no further. Georgina 
 would have been more insistent. She would never have 
 let such an incident escape her inquiring mind. No- 
 body seemed really interested in the man but two un- 
 wearied companions who kept him company in his trot. 
 The uniforms of a few loose-trousered blue-and-red 
 soldiers, with their hands as usual in their pockets, 
 brightened the dull scene ; they were the only gay-look- 
 ing persons she gazed down upon, yet this quiet provin- 
 cial Place, sleepy as it is, has had fearful dreams. The 
 
Le Mans 15 
 
 last one was when, at the advance of the German army 
 in 1871, a sanguinary, desperate fight was fought by 
 the French defending the city. In the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, when the Revolution was sweeping over all 
 France, a still more terrible nightmare assailed it. 
 Under the windows of this very hotel took place the 
 horrible massacre of Vendeans ; blood flowed like water 
 where now the peasants gossipped in provincial idleness 
 and frisking dogs gaily gambolled with one another. 
 
 Angela looked at her watch. She had four hours 
 for sightseeing before tea time, for she and Madame 
 had eaten their dejeuner in the swaying dining-car on 
 their way from Paris. She went below to inquire at 
 the window of the bureau the nearest way to the ca- 
 thedral. " It is but around the corner," directed her 
 pleasant hostess. 
 
 " Round the corner " proved to be around three 
 corners. Therefore, just when the tourist was con- 
 vinced of having lost her way, she came unexpectedly 
 upon the great church lifted high up on its terraces 
 over the Place des Jacobins. With that consciousness 
 of the value of vista which amounts to genius with 
 the French, the old monastery gardens once cover- 
 ing this ground were long ago cleared away, that 
 nothing might distract the eye from the dignity and 
 beauty of the splendid cathedral, built over what was 
 once the Roman wall of the city. Out of a mass of 
 delicate verdure, fresh April foliage, young and tender, 
 among leaves that sparkled from the rain of that morn- 
 ing, rose the choir and flying buttresses. 
 
 Angela sank down on the first bench she found, en- 
 
16 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 tranced by the scene. How glad she was to be alone! 
 She could sit as long as she chose; had her sister 
 been with her, after one all-embracing glance, Georgina 
 would have ordered: "Let us go inside! Don't sit 
 here and stare! We have seen other cathedrals in 
 France!" But to Angela each new object of beauty, 
 no matter how many others she had seen before, was a 
 surprise. She wanted to gaze long and lovingly. This 
 noble edifice seemed to her fancy to stand there haught- 
 ily uplif ted like some splendid, proud creature expecting 
 admiration. 
 
 Across the square from where she sat broad steps 
 cut through the old ramparts led from the Place below 
 to the cathedral square above. They are divided at 
 the bottom by the basin of a fountain, and unite again 
 on a platform halfway up. They lead to the old 
 Place of the chateau, on which the great portals of the 
 cathedral open. The rough pavement has endured 
 for centuries, and the ancient houses, silent and de- 
 serted, as befit so venerable a nook of the old world, 
 cluster about the church as they did when Henry II., 
 England's first Angevin king, was brought a babe in 
 his mother's arms to be baptised. Nine centuries has 
 the west facade looked out upon a changing world. 
 William the Conqueror knew these towers. Geoffrey 
 Plantagenet clattered in armour through the great 
 door many times, passing in to be married, to hold his 
 royal heir at the rude font, to sing Te Deum for cruel, 
 bloody victories, and to be borne at last to his grave 
 with mediaeval pomp. 
 
 Grass now grows up between the pavement of the 
 
C/3 
 
 
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 OS 
 Q 
 W 
 
 h 
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 U 
 
 w 
 
Le Mans 17 
 
 perron. The carved stone balustrade is broken in 
 many places, and the great doors of the nave firmly 
 closed. The heroes of Angela's fondest historical 
 phantasies, the knights of the race of Anjou, once 
 strode boldly up these worn steps. So now she com- 
 placently trotted after them; several centuries after 
 them, to be sure, but being on the ground made sacred 
 by their footsteps denied the greater and more royal 
 portal, she pushed her way through the little side door 
 and stepped reverently into the dim, tender light of 
 the cathedral. 
 
 Her ignorance on all the major and minor points 
 of architecture was simply unparalleled, and, as she 
 took no pains to conceal it, Georgina constantly de- 
 plored her unwillingness to learn the proper things to 
 admire. 
 
 She knew where the dead memories lingered, and she 
 cared for nothing else. 
 
 This great, solemn, silent temple, its long nave 
 stretching away to where beyond the choir the bright 
 light of the early afternoon shone through the glorious 
 old glass of the windows in the apse until they glowed 
 like rare jewels, was where unwilling young Geoffrey 
 of Anjou, handsome Geoffrey with his sprig of sunny 
 flowers, wedded the equally unwilling Matilda, daugh- 
 ter of Henry I. of England. The groom was sixteen, 
 the bride was twenty-six, and widow of an emperor, 
 whom she haughtily preferred to a good-looking youth 
 of lesser rank. It was a marriage of policy forced 
 by her father. Fierce quarrels and a speedy separation 
 ensued, but the iron will of King Henry I. prevailed, 
 
18 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 and this ill-assorted pair became finally reconciled, so 
 that the future great king, their son, was brought here 
 to this cathedral to be received into the arms of the 
 church. Later Geoffrey lay in death under the splendid 
 tomb beneath these arches, and within these grey walls 
 his grandson, England's weak young king, Henry Court- 
 Mantel, rested from his stormy career, his body held 
 by the determined citizens of Le Mans, who loved him 
 so much that they would not allow the procession to 
 proceed on its way to the tomb prepared for him at 
 Rouen. 
 
 Angela knelt down on a low prie-dieii, and like a 
 sorceress summoned up the shapes of the Angevin 
 rulers for her pleasure. All the Plantagenets came, 
 filling the naves with figures handsome and knightly, 
 displaying in her imagination that power of fascina- 
 tion which even the most contemptible of the race pos- 
 sessed. Old Henry I. of England, his father the Con- 
 queror, strode in with a band of bold Normans, while 
 poor murdered little Arthur and his miserable uncle, 
 John Lackland, both joined the ghostly throng. Rich- 
 ard, tall, noisy, rough, captivating Lion-heart, domi- 
 nated the shadowy shapes. 
 
 One of the most brilliant and touching scenes these 
 walls ever witnessed was when, at their consecration, 
 Fulk, the father of Geoffrey Plantagenet, being finally 
 reconciled to his numerous enemies, offered this build- 
 ing to God. He was on the point of departure for a 
 pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Surrounded by a glittering 
 host of nobles and clergy, and attended by the Duchess, 
 who was a daughter of Duke Elias of Maine, he took 
 
Le Mans 19 
 
 the little Geoffrey in his arms and placed him on the 
 newly hallowed altar. Then he prayed aloud to the 
 patron saint with tears running down his cheeks : 
 
 " Oh, holy Julian, to thee I commend my child and 
 my land ! Do thou defend them both ! " 
 
 The vandals of the French Revolution, those ravag- 
 ing fiends, who, while shouting their loudest for 
 " Liberie! figalite! FratemitS! " allowed no brother- 
 hood with departed princes, nor would give their 
 ashes rest or peace, destroyed and carried off every 
 vestige of the splendid monuments which once em- 
 bellished this cathedral. The tomb of Richard's queen, 
 Berengaria, tucked away around the corner of the 
 transcept up against the wall, for all the world like 
 a bed, is the only one left. On her couch the noble 
 queen lies, a figure of regal size and noble mien, rest- 
 ing peacefully after her unhappy life with that wild, 
 stormy lord. 
 
 Part of the spoil of the monument erected to Geof- 
 frey Plantagenet, his interesting portrait done in 
 gold and jewels, is now in the museum at Le Mans. It 
 is a valuable memoir of his features and the costume 
 he wore, and was preserved by mere chance. The clever 
 forethought of a revolutionary collector who bought 
 relics for a song saved this treasure from destruction. 
 
 As Angela Victoria went out onto the porch by the 
 door in the transcept she left the knightly company 
 behind and plunged herself in the amusement awakened 
 in her complex mind by the grotesque carving with 
 which the arch is laden. She laughed with the grin- 
 ning monks and enjoyed the impossible beasts until, 
 
20 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 looking through a narrow slit framed by the two walls 
 of antique buildings, a bit of living, sunlit, happy 
 nature attracted her eyes. Miles and miles of glowing 
 country stretching away to shadowy hills was the pic- 
 ture she saw. On one side of the frame a delicious old 
 chateau, built that infirm priests might spend their 
 last days in peace, and which bore the doleful name 
 of La Grabatoire, now looks very cheerful amidst 
 flowers and trees of a little garden. The names 
 " Madame " and " Mademoiselle C." written on the 
 doorpost awakened her envy. It was precisely the 
 dwelling Angela was eminently fitted to enjoy. Built 
 centuries ago, with tourelles and sharp gables, the 
 casement windows looked on the front out upon the 
 grass-grown square at the grand facade of the mediae- 
 val cathedral, and at the back a stretch of flowering 
 country through which a river meanders, winding, 
 twisting, and curling, until it loses itself among distant 
 hills. 
 
 Angela gazed longingly at the house, and fancied 
 herself blissfully installed among piles of literature, 
 all bearing upon the Lion-hearted Richard, handsome 
 Geoffrey, and the masterful monarch, Henry II. 
 
 The romance and rudeness, the charm and barbarity 
 of the house of Anjou, had been the crowning factor 
 in the trip Angela was now taking. While on a visit 
 during the winter she had fallen upon some queer old 
 books in the private library of a bibliophile, and all her 
 visionary spirit for the past had been aroused by the 
 romances on which she fed at that time. 
 
 Now she was here, happy and satisfied to be at lib- 
 
Le Mans 21 
 
 erty, free from Ker matter-of-fact sister, free to moon 
 and dream as she pleased, and to give her imagination 
 full sway. A wise-looking parrot was apparently the 
 only living thing about the little chateau. It sat sol- 
 emnly in the window and screamed bitter defiance at 
 the grinning gargoyles opposite, insulting the rooks 
 who were circling around the towers of the great 
 church by crying mocking " caw-caws " in its squeaky 
 voice. Angela went down the slit between the two 
 chateaux and followed a narrow steep-stepped way 
 leading between high garden walls down to the bank 
 of the river. She crossed the bridge at the foot of the 
 stairs over the Sarthe, rushing, swift-flowing and full 
 with the spring rains, between gardens rich in blossom- 
 ing lilac bushes. 
 
 From the side of the stream she thus reached, all 
 the quaint, ancient beauty of Le Mans crowded on the 
 cliff, crowned by the cathedral, a jungle of deep pur- 
 ple slate roofs, old towers, bits of heavy ancient wall, 
 and dainty tourelles; feathery trees waving amidst the 
 mass of masonry ; dashes of yellow, saffron, red, green, 
 and dull violet, stood forth against the turquoise blue 
 of the sky of Maine, from which the remaining clouds 
 of an uncertain day were hurrying home. 
 
 Angela strolled along to a bridge lower down, and 
 then up again into the city. It was nearly time to 
 seek out her friend; she went by the Rue Aes Trois 
 Sonnettes, a street which has made no weak concessions 
 to the evanescent taste of passing centuries, steep and 
 ill-paved, with tiny children playing fearlessly in the 
 roadway, inaccessible for the dangerous automobile. 
 
22 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Laughing girls, flirting with gay little soldiers who 
 lounged beneath the quaint deep windows, shot the same 
 sort of glances from the same sort of bright, coquettish 
 eyes which looked down in the twelfth century from 
 these very casements on the men-at-arms of Richard 
 Coeur de Lion. 
 
 The Rue des Trois Sonnettes turns into the Rue de 
 la Truie-qui-FUe, delicious in name and in archaeolog- 
 ical interest. The heavy doors that once guarded the 
 houses are now hanging by their loose hinges along 
 this broken way, and they gape to reveal the many bits 
 of lovely architecture forgotten by destructive time. 
 Higher up, this street changes into La Grande Rue, 
 where the still fine houses of the old nobility are care- 
 fully hidden behind high walls from the prying eyes 
 of the curious. 
 
 Angela had reached her destination. The bell of a 
 heavy solid oak doorway was answered promptly by a 
 liveried servant, who admitted her into a paved court- 
 yard. She saw a massive round tower in one corner 
 near the street, and a low, long, slate-covered wing of 
 the period of the Renaissance stretching out before 
 her. The house was not large, but a gem of its kind; 
 the window frames richly carved, and a dainty, slender 
 tourelle in the opposite corner seemed to smile con- 
 temptuously across the court at the homely, sturdy old 
 tower of the most ancient part of the building. 
 
 Madame la Baronne de Grandmaison, her travelling 
 companion of the morning, met Angela and led her 
 through the salon to a terrace where her sister, Madame 
 de Lalorge, sat in a wheeled chair. The courteous 
 
Le Mans 23 
 
 hostess endeavoured to rise, and, gracefully smiling, 
 blamed her rheumatic limbs for not allowing her to 
 come to meet the guest. She clasped both Angela's 
 hands between her own and welcomed her daughter's 
 friend with that delicious charm which reaches its 
 highest perfection in the true French aristocrat. Two 
 children, a boy of twelve and a girl of nine, stood be- 
 side their grandmother's chair. They likewise greeted 
 the visitor with a gracefulness and simplicity of man- 
 ner which won Angela's heart at once. 
 
 A great salver laden with priceless china and match- 
 less silver of the seventeenth century was brought out 
 by one of the footmen and placed on a table near 
 Madame de Lalorge, while on another little stand were 
 spread tempting cakes. Chocolate and tea, this last 
 a special concession to Angela's supposed wants, were 
 served while the party enjoyed the soft air of a 
 garden with gravelled paths winding between beds 
 full of violets and tulips, a little plot of ground so 
 skilfully planned that an air of spaciousness was given 
 to what in reality was a very small enclosure. Two 
 great trees and masses of lilac bushes shaded the tiny 
 walks, while beyond a low vine-grown wall ran the 
 whole length of the back of the garden, showing above 
 an unbroken view over the wide country shimmering 
 with the silver-green tints of the spring. Behind this 
 garden wall the ground fell away abruptly, like a small 
 precipice, to the street below. 
 
 " Ma foi! " said the baronne, in reply to Angela's 
 question about the age of the house. " We were all 
 born here, and how many generations before us I don't 
 
24 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 know. What is left of the original chateau is only 
 the tower and the tourelle; you perhaps know that a 
 tourelle was the mark of a noble's residence in the old 
 times. Our family goes back to the wild days of 
 Maine. The house through which you passed was built 
 in the time of the Bourbons. Much of the ancient part 
 has been pulled down. One tale in its history my sister 
 and myself heard many times in our youth when our 
 brave grandmother was still alive. She was left a young 
 widow at the end of the eighteenth century, and lived 
 here with her two little sons all through the furious 
 epoch of the Revolution; keeping in some mysterious 
 manner her estate, and her head on her shoulders. She 
 used to thrill us when she told us how, shut up within 
 these old walls, she listened to the wild cries and to the 
 bloody fights raging in the narrow streets. The terri- 
 fied servants were forbidden to show their faces at the 
 window, or to walk here in the garden. Never under 
 any circumstances were they allowed to answer knockings 
 at the gate. Provisions were sent up by night in. a 
 basket lowered over the wall here to a retainer, who was 
 one of the revolutionary committee, and who lived in 
 the house the roof of which you can see there just below 
 the wall. Water has always been plentiful in that well 
 there in the corner." The well, with its rich iron-work, 
 had been wildly distracting to Angela since she first 
 began to eat the tea and cakes. 
 
 " How old is that well? " she asked. 
 
 " It was built in the time of Adam," answered the 
 little girl. Her grandmother and aunt laughed heart- 
 fly. 
 
Le Mans 25 
 
 " Who told you that, petite? " 
 
 " My nurse. She says she knows." 
 
 "Then it must be true," they ejaculated. 
 
 The little girl nodded triumphantly. 
 
 "Have you seen the tunnel?" asked the boy, anx- 
 ious to do his part, too, and exalt the city. 
 
 The tunnel is a modern passage cut to facilitate 
 traffic through the great sandstone cliff on which Le 
 Mans is built. It was much more interesting to the 
 lad than either the well or the old towers of his 
 ancestral home. " You can see the Pont en 'X. from 
 the wall here," he continued, moving forward to show 
 it to her. Like all the citizens, he was very proud 
 of this new and novel achievement in the way of a 
 bridge built for the tramway. Angela followed him 
 down the steps and through the little path and tried 
 hard to admire, while her eyes and her enthusiasm were 
 really all centred on the beautiful panorama stretch- 
 ing beyond the flower-carpeted garden. Madame la 
 Baronne then suggested an expedition for the next morn- 
 ing, a belle promenade a travers la wile, to find not only 
 the remains of the old city walls and bastions hidden 
 away in courtyards and behind houses, but, likewise, the 
 dwelling where Scarron, the poet, and his wife lived in 
 the days before that noted woman became Madame de 
 Maintenon, the guide, philosopher, and friend of Louis 
 XIV. There was also the house where Queen Berangaria 
 once lived. " If you are going to Angers, the afternoon 
 train will be early enough for you to depart," and, there 
 being no Georgina to force the plans, Angela at once 
 changed the hour of her leaving, and agreed with en- 
 
26 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 thusiasm to meet her new friends on the following morn- 
 ing. She parted regretfully from her hosts and the 
 garden, and strolled slowly back to the hotel, through 
 queer streets full of little flights of steps and abrupt 
 corners. Dinner time found her seated in the restaurant 
 near a window ; nothing should escape her, although her 
 sister's theory was that when travelling you should rest 
 the mind and the eyes during a meal. Angela was having 
 a glorious time being thoroughly intractable, and dis- 
 obeying all the advice Georgina had given her. The holi- 
 day crowd of sober peasants, the seven-leagued pace- 
 maker and his flag had alike vanished. There remained 
 alone on the Place a row of six or more fiacres which the 
 custom of Le Mans supports. All French fiacres belong 
 to the same family, thought Angela, they must all be 
 born of the same parents. A young or new fiacre 
 no mortal has ever seen. Angela contemplated a row 
 of these little vehicles. The drivers were dozing after 
 a hard day's work, and the horses gleaning what mea- 
 gre refreshment they could from their slenderly fur- 
 nished nosebags. The j oiliest, fattest coachman of 
 them all had just retired into the interior of his small 
 victoria and filled the whole back seat, had settled 
 himself comfortably for a nap, still chuckling over 
 some joke he had been cracking with his comrade just 
 behind him. Angela turned her attention to the salad; 
 a very good one it was, too! but cries of pleasure 
 and surprise again distracted her. The nodding old 
 man had been awakened by visitors. Two peasant 
 women with their husbands, dressed in their best blouses, 
 were leaning over him as he sat in his carriage, and 
 
Le Mans 27, 
 
 from his improvised throne on the back seat he was 
 welcoming his guests with loud expressions of delight. 
 Angela strained her ears to try and hear some of the 
 wit which brought forth immoderate laughter from 
 the visitors. But, as they were all talking together, 
 she could hear nothing. When the preliminary greet- 
 ings were over every inch of his possession, from the 
 top of the thin, sleepy horse's nose to the hind wheel 
 of the carriage, was thoroughly examined and admired. 
 An extra f eedbag was brought out from under the box 
 and into its depths all four visitors peered with intense 
 interest. He had evidently just bought a new outfit. 
 The cushions and the worn rug were taken out to be 
 admired, the hood of the carriage was raised and 
 lowered amidst exclamations of profound approbation, 
 and the man walked proudly round and round his 
 property, poinding out all its beauties with a visible 
 pride of ownership. " How deliciously French ! " 
 thought Angela to herself, " no wonder they are so 
 gay; nothing is too meagre to interest these people." 
 She did not realise how light her own disposition was. 
 When they had sufficiently admired, the coachman 
 mounted his box and invited his friends to ride. They 
 accepted with glee. And merrily laughing and chat- 
 tering all four climbed in. It was a full load for a 
 small fiacre, but the bony horse gallantly galloped 
 around the square. Luckily no careless bicyclist or 
 unhappy dog lingered in the way of that dashing 
 equipage, for the driver's eyes dwelt not upon his 
 skinny steed, but were turned toward the interior of 
 the carriage from whence sounds of merriment float- 
 
28 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 ing over the Place proclaimed that his witty tongue 
 was galloping as fast as his nag. With a great flour- 
 ish of whip and reins he skilfully brought his fiacre 
 back into the space it had left in the line. The visit 
 was ended, his guests climbed out, the men pretending 
 to be cramped by the long ride ; farewells were spoken, 
 and while approving nods were thrown back at the horse 
 and his owner, the peasants were off, shaking their legs 
 and stretching, and the coachman returned to his 
 slumber and Angela to her dinner. 
 
 The night had grown chilly, the bed was comfort- 
 able, the warmth from the down quilt grateful, and 
 the temptingly convenient electric light beside the bed 
 prompted her to improve her mind by dipping into 
 the historical literature with which she had made her 
 travelling bag so weighty. Georgina disapproved of 
 reading in bed, so Angela smoothed down her conscience 
 with the excuse : " If I am going to write a book of 
 travel I must sprinkle history through the pages or no 
 reviewer will seriously approve of me. If I don't read 
 at night, when can I find out what I ought to know? 
 I must spend the days more profitably." She began 
 with a French paper-covered book she had bought at 
 a shop that morning while drifting around those many 
 corners in search of the cathedral. The pages were 
 divided with much advertising matter; it both dis- 
 tracted and diverted her mind from the information 
 sprinkled between. She managed to find out that Le 
 Mans stood on a spur of red sandstone rising abruptly 
 from the bank of the River Sarthe. It was a citadel in 
 the time of the Romans and a stronghold of the Gauls. 
 
Le Mans 29 
 
 'After the Latins were driven forth by the Franks the 
 early monarchs of the land built more extended walls 
 of defence than those erected by their predecessors, 
 and the city became of such importance that later in 
 its history the rulers of Anjou, when they became a 
 power, cast envious eyes upon the flourishing 1 town and 
 stretched out their grasping hands to seize the terri- 
 tory, just as William of Normandy, used to conquer- 
 ing, conceived the idea that he wanted it, too, and 
 snatched both citadel and the country around. Between 
 these two greedy neighbours the citizens of Le Mans 
 suffered many an unhappy day. Their rulers were be- 
 trayed, imprisoned, murdered, first by one and then by 
 the other of these foes, and they and their families 
 were given over to fire and sword, until at last the 
 union of Anjou and Normandy through the marriage 
 of Geoffrey Plantagenet with Mathilda, daughter of 
 Henry I., gave the burghers peace for a time and 
 caused a lull in the storm. It was brief. Peace and 
 prosperity could not long endure in this divided land. 
 Although Le Mans might reasonably have expected 
 quiet under Henry II., fruit of this union, the city 
 became during his reign a scene of struggle between 
 that king and his rebellious sons. Richard Cceur de 
 Lion allied himself to Philip of France against his 
 fat-her, and together they stormed and burned the 
 town, driving forth the English monarch. In this battle 
 Richard was wildly pursuing his father's band of faith- 
 ful knights and riding recklessly out into the country, 
 now stretching so fruitful in full view of the cathedral, 
 when he became separated from his followers and found 
 
80 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 himself confronted with a great English baron, William 
 Marshall. " God's feet, Marshall ! " cried the reckless 
 young rebel, swearing his favourite oath, " spare me ! 
 I have no hauberk ! " 
 
 Marshall rose in his saddle. " Spare you ! That I 
 will and leave you to the devil ! " 
 
 Those times were rude, and religion primitive. King 
 Henry in his despair looked back from the summit of 
 an elevation as he was flying from his son's wrath and 
 saw the burning city he loved, where he had been born 
 and baptised. It was in the possession of his hated 
 enemy and his no less hated son. The King shook his 
 mailed fist at Heaven and blasphemed aloud : " O 
 God, thou hast shamefully taken from me this day the 
 place I love most on earth; the city in which I was 
 born and bred; the city wherein lies the body of my 
 father and that of his patron saint. I will revenge it 
 on thee as best I can. I will withdraw from thee my 
 soul ; that thing in me for which thou carest most ! " 
 
 Wretched John Lackland, of whom a contemporary 
 writer solemnly avers that by his presence hell itself 
 would be defiled, again swung the torch and battle-axe 
 over Le Mans while in pursuit of his unhappy nephew, 
 Arthur, as it rose painfully from the ruin his brother 
 Richard had worked. Not until the fall of the Ange- 
 vin kings did comparative peace settle over unhappy 
 Maine. It was more or less of a battlefield until 
 the centuries directly preceding the Revolution. Then 
 again the Vendeans came and camped by thousands in 
 the square below the cathedral and blood ran freely 
 within the gates. Later, in our own times, the city 
 
HOUSE OF RICHARD'S QUEEN BERENGARIA 
 
Le Mans 31 
 
 garrison, during the Franco-Prussian War, fought 
 desperately to resist the Germans on their way to 
 Paris. Angela hated bloodshed; she closed her book 
 suddenly, touched the button and extinguished the light 
 by her side, and nestled down into the great square 
 pillow. How comfortable she felt in the cool linen 
 sheets ! Assuredly the Prench understand how to pile 
 up a luxurious bed! Through the wide open window 
 doors the stars looked in upon her where she lay under 
 the golden-hued coverlid. A feeling of delicious self- 
 satisfaction possessed her. She had spent a whole day 
 travelling without Georgina, and she had made no mis- 
 takes ; at least none to which she confessed. Well-being 
 stole over her soul and soothed her to sleep. 
 
 The next morning she was awakened betimes, served 
 with coffee, and even partially dressed, by the valet-de- 
 chambre, who did duty as chambermaid and every other 
 kind of maid, and proved an adept at hooking up her 
 gown. Then she sallied forth with Madame la Ba- 
 ronne and her small niece, who arrived early for the 
 walk about the town. They went first where they could 
 watch the peasants coming in to market. Seated on a 
 bench in an alley beyond the cathedral where they 
 could look up at that splendid structure, they watched 
 the braying donkeys who strode by laden down with 
 great baskets of bright blossoms and many-coloured 
 vegetables ; they wandered through the old streets, 
 falling precipitously down the hill, and peered into 
 odd corners to find bits of quaint architecture and 
 sturdy old towers which once defended the city; they 
 walked along the cobblestone streets, where the house in 
 
32 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 which Berengaria lived still stands. It has, like all 
 ancient Angevin dwellings, a peep-hole over the en- 
 trance door, where the guard of the house looked 
 carefully out before he admitted any swashbuckler 
 who might be seeking entrance in the rude and rough 
 times of Richard the Lion-hearted. This grated little 
 window is now filled up with stones. The house is 
 for sale, and the great door closed forever by massive 
 oak timbers. Under the richly carved casement, out of 
 which the Queen may have gazed many times while 
 watching for her tall lord, is now a shop window, where 
 cheese, eggs, and cream are displayed. In the old 
 church of La Couture, la baronne and her little niece 
 prayed, while Angela gazed reverently around at the 
 ancient structure. It was nearly noon when they parted 
 at the door of the hotel, with sincere regret, uttering 
 fond hopes of speedy reunion. 
 
■# «8? # 
 
 Chapter II 
 
 ANGEES 
 
 .I* ROM Le Mans to Angers is ninety-seven kilometres, 
 but Angela, not at all interested in distances, and only 
 desiring to reach Angers at an hour when a single 
 female might with propriety arrive alone at a hotel, 
 climbed into an express train, tripped on her skirt in 
 so doing, and literally raised herself into the railway 
 carriage by the straps of the door. 
 
 " No wonder the French always speak of mounting 
 ' en waggon.' If these steps were any higher I should 
 need a porter to lift me in bodily, and porters are scarce 
 in these provincial stations." 
 
 She settled her small luggage in a corner, and find- 
 ing that she was quite alone in the compartment, she 
 made herself comfortable, leaned back in the corner, and 
 reflected upon her sojourn in Le Mans. 
 
 " Georgina might possibly have seen more than I did, 
 but I doubt it. She would not have cared for the jolly 
 coachman nor his friends, and would have found, with- 
 out the aid of Madame la Baronne, that the queen of 
 Richard the Lion-hearted was not really buried in Le 
 Mans, but that her monument was brought there from 
 Espan, where she was interred. Perhaps she never lived 
 in the lovely old house and never looked out of the 
 sculptured casements over the cheese shop, but I'm not 
 
 33 
 
34 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 going to doubt. I believe she watched her hand- 
 some, dashing, blond husband caracole through that 
 badly paved street on a prancing Normandy stallion. 
 He could curvet and wheel and entrance any woman's 
 eyes out of her head, I'm sure. How I wish I might 
 have seen him making his way to the Cathedral with his 
 knights to sing a Te Deum for victory won." 
 
 With the impressions of the precipitous, twisting 
 streets, down which her hero so often strode, still fresh 
 in her mind, and convinced that as a would-be author it 
 was highly important to record every important inspira- 
 tion, she drew forth a dainty note book, but in the 
 jigging, jumping train, as it bumped along its uneven 
 way, her unsteady fingers were unable to form one 
 legible letter. The sentences ran all over the page from 
 top to bottom, and the writing was perfectly unintelli- 
 gible, even to her. With a sigh for the highly interest- 
 ing matter thus lost, she tucked away her note book in 
 her coat pocket ready for a happier occasion, and re- 
 signed herself to dreams awakened by the landscape. 
 
 The clouds, which had been threatening all the morn- 
 ing, now began to float down in soft rain. The coun- 
 try between Le Mans and Angers is low, flat, and 
 swampy. Every inch of it has been fought over in the 
 far-off centuries by the rulers of Normandy, Maine, and 
 Anjou, with France interfering wherever possible, and 
 England occasionally taking a hand in the quarrel. The 
 battle here that fired her love of romance most was one in 
 which Fulk the Black, then a lad of but fourteen, led 
 his troops to the encounter with his foe, Conan of 
 Rennes. Rash and inexperienced, the boy allowed him- 
 
$^>i 
 
 7 ~^$- 3rom'Rfrc~s 
 
Angers 35 
 
 self to be trapped into an ambush somewhere in this 
 marshy country. The Breton troops had dug pitfalls 
 into which the flower of the Angevin chivalry rode heed^ 
 lessly and perished. Fulk was thrown from his steed, 
 but such was his superhuman strength that he sprang 
 up unaided, no easy feat in those days of clumsy armour. 
 Furious with rage, in a voice of thunder, he rallied his 
 flying forces so completely that he routed his foe. 
 
 Trying to imagine this scene Angela gazed upon the 
 peaceful country where the poplar trees grow quite as 
 contentedly out of the water as out of the turf, and 
 where, that wet morning, a goose girl sat on a stool in a 
 pool of water with her wooden-shod feet well tucked up, 
 and placidly waved a long wand over her waddling sub- 
 jects. A boy was leading a cow carefully by a string 
 from one succulent tit-bit of spring grass to another, 
 and watching the train from under his pointed hood. 
 The peasants trudged to market under great umbrellas, 
 and an occasional automobile skidded on the shining 
 mud of the broad roadway running along between blos- 
 soming orchards. Whole families of birds, undisturbed 
 by the showers, were nesting in the snowy whiteness of 
 the flowering fruit trees. They sang loud and clear 
 above the noise of the railroad, and nowhere in the scene 
 was there any suggestion of war and its miseries. 
 
 The hotel at Angers proved more imposing than had 
 the Dauphin at Le Mans, but it was equally dull at its 
 entrance and along the corridors. The landlady wel- 
 comed Angela as warmly as though they had been 
 friends for many years, and tried gently to force her 
 
36 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 into the lift, although the guest infinitely preferred 
 walking up stairs to mounting by one of those ex- 
 ceedingly deliberate and casual French elevators, which 
 crawl two stories more slowly than any healthy mortal 
 feet could ever possibly proceed. That all these hotels 
 had been new some time in their existence, Angela de- 
 cided while she looked about her very comfortable bed- 
 chamber. She wondered how old this one was. The 
 furniture, the inlaid floors, the mantels and the mirrors, 
 she gave to that period which preceded the date when 
 Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette lost their heads, 
 figuratively and literally. The dressing-room was en- 
 tirely modern. No eighteenth century traveller ever 
 required as much water or as big a basin as that ! 
 
 " I am an ignoramus," she mentally decided, " and 
 I shall be obliged to look up all these facts before I 
 write my book." She sat down at once to record her 
 ideas, not in a book of travel, but in a pile of bright 
 little notes she sent off to a host of acquaintances. 
 
 In the restaurant she again chose a table near the 
 window, although there was no amusement to be found 
 such as she had enjoyed when watching the friendly 
 coachman the evening before. The Place de Rallie- 
 ment was quite as tiresome, while much more preten- 
 tious than the Place de la Republique. The same style 
 of kiosks were to be seen here, only a trifle more showy. 
 The same tram cars ran tingling around the square, a 
 trifle more noisy. The same cafes flared with light, and 
 the equally convenient postoffice was in an equally con- 
 venient corner, only a little more impressive. Even the 
 frisking, barking dogs were the same, but they were 
 
Pi 
 
 W 
 O 
 
 z 
 < 
 
 Pi 
 w 
 Q 
 O 
 
Angers 37 
 
 slightly more subdued, because here they were muzzled. 
 She was served with a much more pretentious meal, al- 
 though it was not any better, and she rejoiced greatly to 
 find that in the provinces the German waiter of Paris, 
 who pretends to be a native born, was here replaced by a 
 genuine French garfon. The head waiter alone sported 
 a dress suit, which was a trifle less elegant than those 
 to be seen in Paris hotels ; others wore the old-fashioned 
 jackets with long aprons, a costume of which she highly 
 approved. 
 
 The next morning when Angela started off on her 
 explorations she neglected as usual to inquire in which 
 direction she ought to turn to find the Chateau. With 
 her faculty for invariably going in the wrong direc- 
 tion, she made her way promptly toward the newer 
 part of the city instead of crossing the square and 
 entering the old streets which possessed interest for 
 her. Her indignation grew greater every moment 
 as the whitewashed modern imitation Parisian houses 
 dawned upon her indignant eyes. Had Angers been 
 destroyed and rebuilt since her favourite histories were 
 written? That she herself had gone wrong never en- 
 tered her mind. She was about to turn and fly, first 
 back to the big hotel, then from the town, when she 
 was attracted to a building standing in a great court- 
 yard by the crowd gathered outside the railing and 
 the numbers of fine carriages waiting in the courtyard 
 on either side of the entrance. She turned questioning 
 to a little old man who was standing on the curbstone. 
 " A ce qu'il parait, every young person in Angers is 
 getting married this morning." 
 
38 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " And a few old ones, too," put in a woman standing 
 next to him." 
 
 " Then this is the Hotel de Ville? " asked Angela Vic- 
 toria. 
 
 " Mais, out, Madame, and here comes a bride ! " 
 
 A vision of fleecy tulle and shining satin appeared 
 at the entrance, attended by an insignificant looking 
 man, who wore a dress suit, although it was but ten 
 o'clock in the morning. Immediately on their appear- 
 ance one of the smart equipages, the horses and driver 
 decorated with immense bridal favours, dashed up to the 
 door to receive the bride and groom. When they had 
 been safely tucked inside, the coachman drove his horses 
 to the centre of the quadrangle and stopped with a 
 flourish. Here he waited patiently until all the car- 
 riages containing the wedding guests for that partic- 
 ular wedding had, by skilful flank movements, drawn up 
 beside him. Then at a given signal the bridal coach 
 started away at a gallop, followed in proper order of 
 precedence by all the others. 
 
 " Now they will have the fine wedding breakfast," 
 quoth the old man. 
 
 " Et apres du Vermui," ejaculated a woman, who mus.t 
 have been either a sour spinster or an unhappy wife. 
 
 Angela Victoria stood amused, interested, and ab- 
 sorbed, in the recurring spectacle of brides and 
 grooms, who continued to come on the scene like the fig- 
 ures of the living pictures until she saw the fourth one 
 lost to view in a cloud of dust, whereupon she managed 
 to tear herself away from the fascination, and tried to 
 find the Chateau she was looking for. 
 
Angers 39 
 
 She then decided to go into a small shop and buy a 
 map of the city, that she might not further justify 
 Georgina's reproach of losing her way fully twice a 
 day. But alas ! the deciphering of railway time-tables, 
 and the unravelling of guide-book maps was a talent 
 poor Angela did not possess. She invariably got morn- 
 ing and evening trains mixed, and according to her 
 reading of the heavens the sun set in the north and rose 
 in the south. Such a misunderstanding of the points 
 of the compass completely relieved the map of Angers 
 of its usefulness. Starting out after consulting it, 
 with the desire of making a short cut to the Chateau, 
 she arrived instead at the bridge " De La Haute 
 Chaine," a point quite in the opposite direction. Hav- 
 ing got there, however, she consoled herself with the 
 fact that the view was enchanting, and proceeded as 
 far as the middle of the bridge, the better to look at 
 the bank and find the object of her search. The waters 
 of the River Maine, swollen and broadened by the rain, 
 went hurrying along near the queer old low tower from 
 which the chain across the river was hung in feudal 
 times to prevent attacks by night, and the waters 
 reflected the scudding clouds and the brilliant blue 
 sky. 
 
 Nearly a mile down the stream appeared the heavy 
 towers of the castle. The great fortress seen from this 
 point, with the towers, which formerly stood high above 
 the curtain wall, now razed to a level with the ramparts, 
 conjured up a sturdy leader followed by a sturdy army 
 all clad in mail, going forward to an assault. A row 
 of modern houses at the foot of the black rock whereon 
 
40 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the fortress and the old city were built many centuries 
 ago, make but a white line in the picture, and are over- 
 shadowed by the huge towers with which the precipice 
 is crowned. The blunt, round bastions, deprived of their 
 pinnacle roofs, have a grim, brutal look. They crown 
 the promontory at a point where it rises abruptly 
 from the river bank. Angela gazed long at the inter- 
 esting sight, then crossed the river by the bridge, and 
 found herself in a turfless square, the Champ de Foire, 
 in the suburb of Ronceray, in front of the hospital St. 
 Jean, founded by Henry II., and once the favourite 
 charity of that monarch, but now a museum con- 
 taining a heterogeneous collection of curiosities. She 
 entered and with delight gazed up at the fine vaulted ceil- 
 ing. The old bits of stone and marble scattered about 
 everywhere interested her but indifferently. Georgina, 
 the ideal sightseer, would have begun her investigations 
 at the entrance, and with the utmost precision and ra- 
 pidity have gone through the entire collection, whereas 
 her sister simply stared about in a vague, dreamy man- 
 ner as if she were expecting to see the ghosts of the past 
 appear at any moment. 
 
 The museum was deserted by everybody but the gar- 
 dien. "Will not Madame examine this superb old 
 chest ? " he asked, trying to be very gracious, not only 
 to earn his fee, but to indulge himself in a little con- 
 versation to break the tiresome silence that the poor 
 man had kept since early morning. 
 
 " Did it belong to the Plantagenets ? " she asked. 
 
 Quick to take a clue, the wise gardien replied : 
 
 " Ma foi! I know nothing ! But they do say — " 
 
Angers 41 
 
 he invented in haste — " King Henry kept his crown in 
 it," King Henry being the only king of that entire race 
 whose name the man knew, and the lock on the queer 
 box, surely strong enough to inspire him with his sud- 
 den flight of imagination concerning the crown. An- 
 gela willingly accepted the explanation, but, at the same 
 time, seeing nothing further pertaining to twelfth cen- 
 tury knights excepting some archaeological remains, she 
 thanked the man graciously for his information, be- 
 stowed twenty-five centimes upon him, and departed, 
 leaving him sad at heart at being deprived of such a 
 sympathetic and credulous companion. 
 
 She then made her way to the old Abbey of Ronceray, 
 of which very little now remains. It was founded by 
 the wife of Fulk Nerra, and grew to be a splendid 
 shrine, raised around a miraculous statue of the Vir- 
 gin made by the angels, as were all the statues in the 
 Middle Ages, if we believe the legends. The angels who 
 made this statue of Ronceray had a genius for bronze 
 casting; when it was achieved, they hid it away among 
 some thorn bushes; hence the name of the abbey, 
 ronce being the word for thorn in French. Here in 
 its hiding place the little statue was discovered by some 
 children. Miracles worked by the wholesale soon an- 
 nounced to the pious and superstitious folk of that 
 period the heavenly origin of this small figure. It is 
 still to be seen in the ancient crypt, which was part 
 of the old shrine and above which an ugly modern 
 church has been erected. The whole of this suburb is 
 full of a quaint charm of antiquity. Henry II., 
 Richard Coeur de Lion, and his brothers often abode in 
 
42 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the town. Curious old facades remain of the antique 
 mansions from which issued forth trains of mediaeval 
 knights, who escorted these royal pilgrims when they 
 went to pray before the miraculous image, to beg 
 pardon for their crimes in order that they might depart 
 to commit others at their pleasure. 
 
 Angela, under the guidance of an enthusiastic old 
 sacristan, whom she enchanted by her reverence, de- 
 scended into the damp crypt, a relic of the old chapel, 
 and gazed long and fondly at the miraculous statue, 
 whose beauty was hidden by the bedizened robes with 
 which it had been clad, until the man, enticed by a 
 silver piece and the very evident admiration of his vis- 
 itor, condescended to lift the spangled mantle to allow 
 Angela to examine the skill and clever craftsmanship of 
 angel fingers. 
 
 Following his directions, Angela turned the corner, 
 after she left the church, to an art school, which now 
 stands on the site of the former abbey. There is little 
 left of the old nuns' convent of Ronceray except the 
 chapel, repaired, restored, and sadly changed, which is 
 now used by the students. By a plentiful use of more 
 silver she induced the concierge of the establishment 
 to permit her to enter the garden. There he left her to 
 her own devices, and seating herself on a garden 
 bench, where she could see the ruined arches telling 
 of the former grandeur of the old church, she sunk her- 
 self in visions, and promptly went tumbling down 
 through the ages into a bevy of white-robed nuns, and 
 fancied herself the most prominent and important of the 
 young sisters; she who was ordered to stand before 
 
Angers 43 
 
 royalty and offer the cup to the Lion-hearted Prince. 
 Her dreaming heart fluttered as the King, himself super- 
 stitious in his childlike credulity, humble and repentant, 
 with his best foot well forward, became a suppliant for 
 the prayers of the gentle nun, and begged her to in- 
 tercede for him at her matins. At this proud moment 
 of the vision the commonplace concierge, who failed 
 to comprehend why anyone in their sober senses should 
 pay a franc to sit in a garden, which looked to him 
 just like any other garden, and then stare vacantly at 
 an ancient ruin, which he thought not only useless but 
 ugly, shattered her bliss by coming to tell her that 
 she must leave, as it was time for him to go to his 
 luncheon. 
 
 Picking her way through queer streets in which the 
 houses cling like barnacles to the side of the church 
 as though begging for the protection of the shrine, 
 Angela came to the Pont du Centre, a bridge half way 
 between those of the Upper and Lower Chain, spanning 
 the river from Ronceray to the foot of the Rue Bau- 
 driere, an antique street, where the long paved steps of 
 the Monte St. Maurice lead up to the front of the 
 cathedral. The f acade of this great church, adorned by 
 a row of warlike looking statues intended for saints, 
 was evidently sculptured to suit the stern taste of the 
 early warriors of the House of Anjou. On that April 
 morning the eyes of these knightly images were staring 
 fiercely down upon a small regiment of stalwart sextons 
 and ancient crones who were employed in the business of 
 cleaning the church furniture in preparation for the 
 feast day of some saint. T^wo of the men held firmly to 
 
44 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the edge of a huge rug, while a third beat it with a thick 
 stick, in reality gathering much more dust by this 
 process than he got rid of. Occasionally the trio gave 
 the heavy carpet a shake, sending up the dust in clouds 
 and gathering a fresh supply from the pavement. Sev- 
 eral old women lounged indolently on the church steps, 
 phlegmatically waving dusters, from time to time gently 
 beating a cushion or two, and interlarding their labours 
 with plenteous advice to the shakers of the carpet, who 
 received their wisdom with indifference. The whole 
 party chatted merrily about matters which were much 
 more entertaining to them than the subject of church 
 cleaning; and they were joined by an audience of school 
 boys who wore long belted aprons, and by a few mar- 
 ket women carrying baskets laden with fresh, dewy let- 
 tuce, bright radishes, and dull, olive-hued artichokes. 
 The scene was picturesque, the grey cathedral making 
 a background for the fine old hues of the rug ; the vivid 
 colours of the women's clothing ; the boys, and the mot- 
 ley market women. 
 
 Angela passed with a greeting which was cordially 
 returned, and entered the cathedral. 
 
 She found the great church of Geoffrey, of Henry, 
 of Richard, and of King Rene, was in the hands of the 
 ecclesiastical decorators. The pious citizens of Angers, 
 like the cleaners, were preparing for the fete, and, with 
 more zeal than good taste, were busily engaged in wind- 
 ing the dark red marble columns that support the balda- 
 quin over the high altar with blue and white paper 
 scrolls purposed to imitate mosaic. 
 
 The superb tapestries and pictures in the transept 
 
Angers 45 
 
 were being hidden behind yards and yards of light blue 
 curtain material, trimmed with a hideous bright gilt 
 fringe. Angela tried to forget the barbarity of this 
 decoration by lifting her eyes above it to the fine colours 
 of the glorious old windows, but her endeavour was in 
 vain. Their beauty was destroyed by the foreground 
 of ugly, crude colour. The solemnity, all the dignity, 
 of this splendid old edifice was obliterated by the tawdry 
 and theatrical embellishment placed here to adorn a 
 religious fete. 
 
 The tombs of the former rulers of Anjou, fine re- 
 membrances of a great race, have vanished. It was not 
 the vandals of the Revolution who were to blame for 
 this outrage. The canons of St. Maurice deliberately 
 destroyed every trace of the splendid effigies to make 
 way for carved stalls in the choir. 
 
 Angela left the church disheartened and disgusted, 
 and quite by chance turned into the Rue St. Evroult, 
 thus stumbling inadvertently onto the most direct way 
 to the Chateau. Previous to this she had carefully 
 but unconsciously each time selected the longest way to 
 her destination and then endeavoured to console herself 
 for the additional steps and the time lost by rejoicing 
 over the items she thus could gather for her intended 
 book. 
 
 The Castle of Angers is typical of the House of An- 
 jou. It rises so strong, so forbidding, out of the black 
 slate rock imbedded deep in the bosom of the earth 
 along the bank of the river, that if in Walhalla Fulk 
 the Black was looking down when St. Louis erected this 
 present massive pile, he must have nodded stern ap- 
 
46 . A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 proval. It stands on the edge and the point of a spur 
 of slate rock, which makes a promontory rising abruptly 
 from the bank of the stream. Fulk's old, rude fortress 
 stood on this same spot, but the palace in which he 
 lived adjoined the cathedral. A broad boulevard skirts 
 the foundations of the Chateau leading up from the 
 river to a point where the wall of the moat begins and 
 there turns, and a second time following this same wall 
 makes another curve onto a terrace called " Le Bout 
 du Mond," from which a splendid view of the surround- 
 ing country and the lower lying portions of the town 
 is visible. Within the tall enclosure, with its blunt 
 towers, nothing remains of the time when the Angevin 
 kings flourished but an old chapel and a bit of an ancient 
 sandstone hall. The moat is dry and now given over to 
 flourishing market gardens and peaceful chicken yards. 
 Fluffy little pullets peck at dainty morsels near the base 
 of the thick walls where once the river water defended 
 the garrison from all possible attack. Fulk the Black 
 and his race are no more, but out of the ruined crevices 
 filling broken balconies shines with living, glowing 
 beauty the plant his descendant, Geoffrey, loved, a 
 wealth of gleaming blossoms hanging gracefully in 
 clusters over the wall, pushing out boldly a single flower 
 through the paw of a headless beast or gilding with 
 living glory a broken escutcheon. 
 
 Dead princes and ever-living nature ! 
 
 Angela loved them both. She wondered why war-^ 
 riors should die when flowers came again each return- 
 ing spring ! It was a question on which she pondered 
 frequently. It seemed impossible to her that the souls 
 
Angers 47 
 
 of her heroes should not in some form return to the 
 scene of their exploits when flowers and birds came 
 back constantly to their birthplace and to the trees 
 they loved. She seated herself beside the castle and 
 looked out from the " End of the World " onto the 
 landscape before her. The rain clouds were still fight- 
 ing for a chance to fall, but they had had their play 
 the night before and now drifted along high in the 
 blue sky. The tender green of the country glittered 
 with moisture, the vines hanging from the castle wall 
 shook off diamond drops into the moat bfilow, and in the 
 far distance beyond the river she saw the windmills 
 against the horizon twirling their sails as though they 
 were doing a rushing business. 
 
 As she sat on her bench trying to make up her mind 
 to visit the castle, a small party of evident sightseers, 
 two gentlemen accompanied by a jolly fox terrier, saun- 
 tered over the bridge spanning the moat to the gateway 
 of the castle. As they stopped to speak to the sentinel at 
 the entrance Angela gathered courage and j oined them. 
 The dog sprang forward to meet her, decided at once 
 she was a friend, and by attaching himself to her uncere- 
 moniously caused his master to smile and bow. All 
 through their wanderings about the castle and ramparts 
 the friendly dog continued to bring offerings of sticks 
 and stones wherever he could find them to the lady he 
 admired. Once, on the very tiptop of the highest 
 tower, with the intention of showing how great a hunter 
 he was, he attempted the life of a tiny mouse who 
 chanced to put his nose out of a hole. Mousey escaped 
 his giant foe, who then with many wags from his stump 
 
48 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 of a tail, apologising for his awkwardness, fetched 
 Angela a harmless pebble instead. 
 
 There is little for the ordinary sightseer to enjoy 
 within the castle enclosure. The guide, like all of his 
 kind, had a lesson which he recited. He had surely 
 never learned it from the sources of Angela's informa- 
 tion concerning Angers. But the gentlemen who ac- 
 companied her, less learned, pretended to be deeply 
 impressed by his knowledge of history. Angela be- 
 came a trifle suspicious of their sincerity when the guide 
 took them into a very cheerful donjon and then de- 
 clared that here the ubiquitous Cardinal Ballou had 
 hung in his cage for many years. One of them slyly 
 remarked : " This poor prisoner must have been kept 
 by Louis XI. travelling around like a prize dog going 
 to a show all for the sake of future tourists. There is 
 not a donjon on the Loire Cardinal Ballou and his 
 cage did not inhabit for many a long year." 
 
 " He must have been at least two centuries old when 
 he died, the wretched prisoner ! " 
 
 " Monsieur a raison! " laughed the guide, not in the 
 least disturbed by the incredulity of his listeners. 
 
 The master of the dog peered out at the landscape 
 from between the wide bars. " If Monsieur le Cardi- 
 nal was hung here, he could at least amuse himself with 
 this fine view out of the window." 
 
 The guide's sense of humour came readily to his aid. 
 " Eh, quoi! " he exclaimed. " The King, of course, 
 hung up a curtain to shut out the view." 
 
 Seen from the ramparts directly over this dungeon, 
 
Angers 49 
 
 the tortuous streets of the city look like furrows in a 
 cliff, cut down between grim buildings with dark, deep 
 roofs, rescued from gloom by clinging lichens of yellow, 
 brown, and green; the majestic tower of St. Aubin, a 
 relic of the Middle Ages, and the cathedral towers, soar 
 above the dark army of dwellings on the rocky steep, 
 while below the abrupt town and far over the river lies la 
 riant campagne, sweeping off to where the hills rise blue 
 and faint in the hazy atmosphere; a fair country smil- 
 ing through tears watered by glittering streams. 
 
 At the most telling point of his story concerning 
 Anjou and its potentates, the guide suddenly made the 
 discovery that he had served when a soldier in a regiment 
 of which one of the visiting gentlemen was an officer. 
 Whereupon he promptly shoved history and his carefully 
 learned lesson into the background and devoted himself 
 to military gossip. The master of the dog and Angela, 
 glad to be relieved from his chatter, wandered about at 
 will undisturbed and indulged in their own speculations 
 concerning the grass-grown space inside the fortifica- 
 tion. The little pinnacled chateau in which King Rene 
 was born was the most picturesque object they saw 
 within the great grass-grown space. The chapel ad- 
 joining it belongs to the twelfth century, but as mate- 
 rials of war are now stored in both of these buildings, 
 they are closed to visitors. In one corner stand the 
 remains of the old sandstone hall to which Geoffrey 
 Plantagenet brought home his rebellious bride after the 
 marriage ceremony in Le Mans. Having been an em- 
 press, Matilda undoubtedly said very cutting things 
 
50 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 about this simple domicile, which, considering that she 
 got with it a handsome husband some ten years younger 
 than herself, was not a very gracious thing for her to 
 do. It is no wonder they quarrelled. 
 
 The gentleman pointed out his pays to Angela among 
 a grove of trees in the distant country. She saw only 
 the chimneys and pointed roof of what seemed to be a 
 charming little chateau. Being a native of Anjou, he 
 could likewise indicate all of the points of interest much 
 better than the guide, who was still absorbed in regi- 
 mental gossip. He advised her to take a trip to the 
 Ponts de Ce, a queer Ettle town which in olden times 
 Henry II. had bestowed as a gift on the Abbey of 
 Fontevraud. " The tramway will take you there, and 
 the road leads over seven bridges, a most interesting 
 and charming little excursion." 
 
 Angela, glowing with enthusiasm, at once confided 
 to the gentleman that her deep interest in Anjou and 
 its rulers had brought her here on her travels and that 
 she proposed going to Fontevraud the next day. 
 
 " Ah ! Then I am indeed glad that I recommended you 
 to see that little town over there in the marchland," he 
 said. 
 
 The guide stopped once on his way through the 
 entire regiment to give an account in vivid terms of the 
 " frightful tornado " with which they had been visited 
 in Angers a year or two previously. The gentlemen, 
 with many French ejaculations, took „his description 
 quite seriously. When he pointed out a tall, thin chim- 
 ney and a shallow roof on a garden hut, which he said 
 the gale had carried nearly across the enclosure, An- 
 
Angers 51 
 
 gela tried hard to feel impressed, but, que voulez vous! 
 she was an American, and in the United States the word 
 tornado does not mean merely a high wind. 
 
 Market gardening and flourishing fruit trees were as 
 much an industry inside the castle walls as in the 
 depths of the castle moat. The party could scarcely 
 tear itself away nor the guide allow them to depart 
 while he waxed eloquent on the subject of his industry 
 and gain in this direction. They bade good-bye at the 
 castle gate. Such chance meetings are so pleasant, 
 thought Angela, as she went over the drawbridge, cast- 
 ing one lingering look back at the little gem of archi- 
 tecture in which poetic King Rene was born; King 
 Rene of Anjou, poet and painter, but indifferent ruler, 
 who left his coumtry to become Duke of Lorraine and 
 King of Sicily. After his elder brother's death gave him 
 the succession to this marchland, he returned to Angers 
 and married as his second wife Jeanne de Laval. There 
 were great doings then in the city. His people revelled 
 in gaiety and song; here his two daughters were mar- 
 ried off, and one of them, the unfortunate Margaret of 
 Anjou, became Queen of England, and after the stormy 
 wars and final battle of Tewkesbury, returned to her 
 father's province to die. Impractical Rene was com- 
 pletely deceived by crafty Louis XL, who envied him 
 his fair province of Anjou; for a time the Duke was 
 benefited by the alliance, but finally Louis sent him off 
 to Provence with his books and his pictures, completely 
 usurping the field. 
 
 On coming out of the chateau the Rue Donadieu de 
 Pulcharie attracted Angela Victoria to exploration. 
 
52 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 It is a narrow lane lined with high garden walls, with an 
 old-time gutter sunk in the centre of the cobblestone 
 way. After strolling down the tortuous little street 
 for a short distance and finding nothing to look at but 
 a boy sweeping the pavement, she returned to the bench 
 on the terrace to gaze once more at the splendid pan- 
 orama spread out before her. It was slightly past noon, 
 and the birds were flying about among the tufts of 
 golden plantagenet overflowing a broken balustrade and 
 balcony that still clung to the rugged castle wall. The 
 broad land was full of music and colour, the feathery 
 trees swayed and bowed above the wide river, and a blue 
 mist marked its course far off to the base of the shadowy 
 hills outlined faintly on the blue horizon. 
 
 No wonder Fulk the Black craved all France to sat- 
 isfy his ambition, when here it lies so smiling and tempt- 
 ing, spread out where his eyes must each day have been 
 provoked to desire! 
 
 It always blows a gale on the terrace at the " End 
 of the World." Where better can the four winds meet? 
 They played with Angela's flimsy veil, gently at first, 
 then suddenly with ruthless force snatched it from the 
 carelessly put in pins. The long cloud of chiffon was 
 torn from its fastening, and would have sailed down 
 onto the moss-grown housetops far beneath the wall had 
 not a lady who was seated beside Angela made a quick 
 motion and caught the long streamer in its flight. 
 When she returned it to its owner, Angela looked up 
 with a grateful smile and saw traces of tears on the face 
 before her. Impulsive and tender, she at once made her 
 sympathy evident, not in words, but by the warmth of 
 
Angers 53 
 
 her glance. The lady smiled back responsively into her 
 eyes and then explained ingenuously: 
 
 "I have just left my two little ones at the convent 
 school," she said ; " I am feeling very homesick for 
 them. I live over there in the country about two hours' 
 distant from here, and I cannot get a train for some 
 time." 
 
 " So you came to the ' End of the World ' to be alone 
 with your heart?" 
 
 " Au contraire," said the lady softly, " I think I 
 wanted company, and seeing you sitting here alone, I 
 came to join you." 
 
 Angela Victoria looked pleased. She was always 
 ready to welcome companionship. 
 
 " Perhaps you can tell me where to find a good res- 
 taurant for dejeuner," said the lady. " Though I live 
 so near, I am a stranger in Angers." 
 
 " DSjeuner! " Angela laughed aloud, to the lady's 
 surprise. " I had forgotten to go to dejeuner," she 
 explained, " but I am a stranger, too, and alone. Per- 
 haps we can go find some place together." 
 
 The lady gaily assented, and together they soon man- 
 aged to discover an inviting little cafe where tables 
 were spread outside under an awning. 
 
 It was almost empty, for the hour was long past that 
 when the provincial eats dejeuner. One gentleman sat 
 on the other side, smoking and drinking his coffee. As 
 Angela took the table facing him, she glanced at his 
 face and felt a curious attraction, which need surprise 
 no one, for the man, although no longer young, was 
 very good-looking, and Angela liked good-looking men. 
 
54 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 She forgot him in the serious task of ordering. And 
 before the omelet was brought she had completely put 
 him out of her mind, although he watched with interest 
 the animated face she showed while listening to the 
 mother who talked in lively fashion about the doings and 
 sayings of little Annette and Lucille, sent to-day to 
 school for the first time. When breakfast was ended, 
 Angela insisted on paying the bill. " You have given 
 me sauce to my meat," she said, when her companion 
 with a smile objected in true continental fashion to 
 being under any obligation. But as Angela was very 
 persistent, the guest accepted with grace. The check 
 was brought and Angela opened her purse. Horror 
 and mortification! She had not money enough to fee 
 the waiter. The lady laughed merrily and immediately 
 drew forth some coin, but just at that moment Angela 
 discovered a ten-franc piece she had overlooked. In 
 her confusion she had looked rapidly toward the stranger 
 and saw that his eyes twinkled with merriment. " He 
 is laughing at me," she thought indignantly. " I don't 
 see anything very amusing in being short of money i " 
 Which was the reason for a slightly ostentatious manner 
 as she put the small gold piece down on the "waiter's 
 plate. 
 
 " The gentleman looks like a foreigner to me," said 
 the lady softly, after they had left the restaurant. An- 
 gela did not answer. She was too indignant to give 
 him any further thought. 
 
 After parting with her new friend and promising 
 faithfully to visit her some day at her chateau of Les 
 Sables, Angela sauntered slowly back in the direction 
 
Angers 55 
 
 of her hotel, gazing into the shop windows as she went 
 with the intention and desire of purchasing some present 
 her sister would consider useful. She stopped before a 
 display of queer old brass, attracted by a card whereon 
 stood printed with a pen in large and irregular letters : 
 
 " NO MORE THIEVES ! THE ROGUES LOSE 
 THE GAME!! RASCALS CONFOUNDED!!! AP- 
 PARATUS AGAINST BURGLARS." 
 
 This strongly recommended invention was nothing 
 more nor less than a simple device by means of which a 
 bell rang when a key was turned in a lock. Angela 
 concluded that in Angers burglars always entered by 
 the door, if this device could deliver householders from 
 such scoundrels. Her attention was absorbed by this 
 fact when the barking of a very small woolly dog almost 
 at her feet supplanted burglars in her mind. It had 
 apparently been helping a very fat man to draw a bar- 
 row of flowers up the hill. The man stopped to pant 
 and to mop his brow, the dog to sit down and gaze lov- 
 ingly at his master. 
 
 " Does that little animal help you pull that heavy 
 cart? " asked Angela, horrified. 
 
 Over the man's face broke a huge smile. 
 
 " Mon Dieu, non! " he said, as he stuffed his dingy red 
 handkerchief inside his blue blouse. " C'est mon petit 
 camerade. The law requires a dog to be leashed or 
 wear a muzzle, so I tie him to the cart. Voyezl " He 
 pointed as example to a butcher's shop kept by one who 
 bore the suggestive Angevin name of V Anglais. And 
 
56 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 there before the door solemnly sat two dachshunds, arm 
 in arm, otherwise leashed together with muzzles as big 
 as fruit baskets covering their long, pointed noses. An- 
 gela and the flower pedlar laughed in sympathy at the 
 ludicrous sight, and she patted the wriggling petit cam- 
 erade, who waved his funny bushy little tail in response. 
 The man picked from among his wares a carnation of 
 great beauty : " If Madame will accept — from Milord." 
 
 " So he was a little lord, the dog comrade? " 
 
 " Mais, certamement, Madame! Who more so ? " 
 
 Angela accepted the gift with many thanks, then 
 purchased a great bunch of tulips and lilacs, and left 
 him with her arms full of spicy fragrance. Boys were 
 coming home from school laughing and romping. 
 
 One of them looked merrily into her face, peeping 
 around behind the flowers. " Oh, Madame ! Will you 
 buy me? I am cheap! " he cried, whirling around. On 
 his back hung a large card, which the mischievous lad 
 had snatched from some shop and whereon was printed 
 in mammoth figures and pricemark: 
 
 " 6 f re. 50." 
 
 " You are too dear. I must wait for another day," 
 replied Angela. 
 
 " Another day I shall increase in price," he shouted, 
 running away, crying all the way down the street, 
 " Who will buy, who will buy? Only six francs fifty ! " 
 
 A youthful crowd followed the funmaker until he 
 disappeared down the ancient street, where overhanging 
 galleries of mediaeval slate and timbered houses nod 
 condescendingly at the follies of youth. How many 
 generations of happy boyhood they had seen! Within 
 
Angers 57 
 
 their walls joyous lads had grown to stern manhood, 
 and at their deep doors many had fallen, bathed in their 
 own blood, fighting for the loved ones sheltered beneath 
 those dipping roofs. 
 
 She went by the Rue du Basse Figuier and stopped 
 long before the little jewel of a hotel built in the time 
 of the Renaissance, once known as the Hotel d'Anjou, 
 but now called the Hotel de Pince. It is one of the 
 most charming bits of antiquity left in Angers, and 
 shares that reputation with the Hotel Barrault, another 
 gem of Angevin architecture, now converted into a 
 museum. 
 
 As Angela passed into the hotel she stopped for a 
 word with Madame, her landlady, and to pet Madame's 
 favourite dog, thereby winning an additionally warm 
 greeting for herself and another invitation to ride in the 
 sluggish elevator, which she refused and mounted the 
 broad steps to her room, to instal herself in a comfort- 
 able chair, and, while she rested, penetrate the secrets 
 of the House of Anjou through the medium of an en- 
 tertaining history written by Miss Kate Norgate. 
 
 The natural advantages of the point of slate rock 
 rising sheer above the broad River Maine, on which An- 
 gers is built, were not neglected by Gaul, Roman or 
 Franc. When the adventurous Tortulf , the founder of 
 Anjou, half bandit, half hunter, was put to guard 
 France against the marauders from the north, the bold 
 Norman pirates, he took up his position on this im- 
 pregnable promontory, and won by his guardianship 
 the approval of his master, Charles the Bold. Here he 
 founded a race which was eventually to spread its do- 
 
58 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 minion all over Southern France, to reign in Sicily and 
 the Holy Land, and to swing itself up to the English 
 throne. 
 
 The men of the House of Anjou had those qualities 
 which insure great success in all ages and all positions 
 of the world. »Ambitious, far-seeing, unscrupulous, per- 
 sistent, determined, they were gifted with shrewdness 
 of mind and a fascination of manner few mortals could 
 resist. The first Count of Anjou, Ingelger, so won the 
 favour of the childless Countess of Gatinois by this 
 charm that she made him her heir. Women were impor- 
 tant factors in the fortunes of Anjou. His descendants 
 furthered their aims by constantly making successful 
 and rich marriages. One of them took to wife, says 
 the chronicle, a lovely creature who brought the evil 
 into the character of these princes. As the tale goes, 
 this enchanting creature had but one fault: she ob- 
 jected to assisting at the consecration of the Host 
 during Mass. To quiet the rumours poured into his 
 ears by the courtiers of her strange origin, her husband 
 resolved to detain her forcibly while the mystery of 
 the Mass was being accomplished. Therefore, one day, 
 when, as usual, she was about to retire gracefully from 
 the chapel, her lord laid hold of her mantle. With a 
 quick motion she loosened it angrily from her shoulders 
 and, to the amazement of everyone present, rose in the 
 air and sailed out of the window, never more to return. 
 By her side her two children had been standing, but 
 their father quickly seized them by their arms and they 
 lived to continue the race and transmit to their progeny 
 the violence and deviltry of their mysterious mother. 
 
Angers 59 
 
 Richard Cceur de Lion was wont to make this lady the 
 excuse for his own wild nature, saying : " From the 
 devil we came, and to the devil we will return." 
 
 Tourists in the chateau country hear constantly the 
 name Fulk Nerra, who laid the foundation of nearly 
 every keep pointed out to them along the Loire. 
 
 This great prince was the most perfect example of 
 the Angevin type. His character was a mixture of 
 strange contrasts. Sometimes cool and calculating, at 
 other moments shaken with furious bursts of rage; 
 full of keen perception and stubborn perseverance ; per- 
 fectly lacking in any sense of right and wrong, and com- 
 mitting without hesitation any crime which furthered 
 his ambitious ends ; intensely superstitious, but never 
 understanding what real repentance meant. Once he 
 caused himself to be dragged around the streets of 
 Jerusalem by a rope fastened around his neck, crying 
 all the time aloud to God to have mercy on his perjured 
 soul, but almost immediately after this strange penance 
 was consummated and he had got safe home again, he 
 proceeded wantonly to steal and cruelly slay whoever 
 stood in his path to the glory of Anjou. 
 
 In spite of his false nature, a nature which constantly 
 took advantage of the weakness of his friends as well 
 as that of his foes, the fascination Fulk exerted at will 
 drew around him powerful followers closely attached to 
 his interests. 
 
 He reigned fifty-three years, and during that time 
 extended the power of Anjou on every side. He craft- 
 ily profited by the superstition of the age to become 
 one of the greatest castle builders in history, for it so 
 
60 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 happened that at the height of his power all Christen- 
 dom was agitated by a fear that the world was coming 
 to an end with the tenth century. In France King 
 Robert had been excommunicated by the Pope because 
 he refused to submit to papal authority and discard his 
 beloved wife Bertha. His kingdom was therefore plunged 
 in darkness and misery, and the people deprived of the 
 comforts of religion and what meagre instruction they 
 got from the church. The world appeared to stop for 
 everyone but Fulk Nerra. Superstitious though he 
 might be about himself, he never permitted bigotry to 
 interfere with business. He took prompt advantage 
 of the fears of others and acquired territorry right and 
 left, by fair means or foul. 
 
 Along the length of the Loire and the adjacent rivers 
 there arose in quick succession the frowning fortresses 
 of Loches, Amboise, Chinon, Langaies, Monrichard, 
 Monbazon and the many gloomy keeps whose ruins still 
 dot the heights of Touraine. 
 
 After him came a succession of clever, ambitious, 
 grasping descendants. Fulk V., although surnamed 
 The Good, who was the father of Geoffrey Plantagenet, 
 and who by marriage with the heiress of Maine added 
 that province to his realm, quarrelled bloodily with 
 Henry I., Norman King of England. After horrible 
 cruelties on both sides Fulk was forced to submit, and he 
 gave his daughter as bride to William Aethling, that 
 heir to England's throne who went down with his wild 
 companions in the White Ship. Again united with 
 England by the alliance of his son Geoffrey with Ma- 
 tilda, Anjou spread its hand over all France, and by 
 
OLD ANGERS 
 
 WALLS OF THE ThS-tot, „' 
 
Angers 61 
 
 the marriage of their son, Henry II., with Eleanor of 
 Aquitaine, the crowning point of its prosperity was 
 reached. 
 
 It was nearly five o'clock when Angela decided to go to 
 the Ponts de Ce, remembering the seven bridges and the 
 gift to Fontevraud. The tramway started from the 
 Place de Ralliement. The landlady had assured her 
 that there was ample time to take the excursion before 
 the long twilight closed and that she could still have 
 dinner on her return. 
 
 The roomy front platform of the electric car, on 
 which six persons can comfortably stand without crowd- 
 ing, was so popular that a few extra centimes were 
 charged for the privilege of riding there next to the 
 motorman. This worthy, jauntily clad in a leather 
 automobile coat, rushed his car like a true sport at a 
 high rate of speed along the boulevard and out onto 
 the country road, flinging witticisms right and left at 
 all the friends he passed by the way. Outside the gates 
 another driver changed places with him. They likewise 
 exchanged amenities : 
 
 " The good are taken," said he who retired. 
 
 " And the evil remain," gravely replied his substitute. 
 
 " Therefore you are left behind." 
 
 The country, low-lying as it is, had been flooded by 
 the rains. It was scented with the fragrance of vio- 
 let and thorn. Clumps of iris, making great blotches 
 of royal purple, hung over the meandering streams, un- 
 der the many bridges. The rippling waters were green 
 with the reflection of a peculiar afternoon sky. Along 
 the dusty road a wild flower garden, shining with inten- 
 
62 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 sified colour in the misty light of the setting sun, grew 
 luxuriantly. That orb,, hanging low on the horizon, 
 seemed undecided about making its appearance on 
 the morrow. Patches of pink showed on the purple 
 grey clouds massed heavily about the disappearing sun, 
 behind the new, fresh green of the bending, bowing pop- 
 lars. The sky made no promise of fair weather for the 
 morning, and slowly the intense colour faded into soft, 
 jade-like tints of green and peachblow. 
 
 The car went flying on over the seven bridges as far 
 as the Pont de Ce, but the platform ride proved too 
 exciting to leave, so Angela went on as far as the end of 
 the line and climbed down at the village of Erigne, near 
 a little inn, A la descente des Pecheurs. One lone fisher- 
 man sat drinking a sirop at a table in the dusty street 
 before the inn. Angela longed to inquire his luck. The 
 waiting motorman forestalled her: 
 
 "He? qaoi? Not one fat frog?" he inquired lacon- 
 ically. 
 
 " Rien, rien, I must try again when the floods are not 
 so high." 
 
 The motorman held out his arms with his hands spread 
 wide. His sympathy for the disappointed sportsman 
 found expression in a prolonged "A-a-h! O-o-hl " 
 
 The car was to return in half an hour, so Angela 
 left the fisherman and the motorman to their gossip 
 and strolled away up a deep-cut village street, over 
 which hung rude plaster cottages inclosed in charm- 
 ing little gardens. Against the whitewashed walls the 
 blossoms of the peach trees, the great bunches of lux- 
 uriant lilacs, and masses of yellow spring flowers, made 
 
Angers 63 
 
 pictures well worth coming over seven bridges to see, 
 were it not that the passion for huge advertisements, 
 rampant in France, had disfigured these otherwise deli- 
 cious little cabins with huge posters in blue, yellow, and 
 red, whereon the shops of Angers invited custom. 
 
 In the open country beyond the hamlet some children 
 were trimming a wayside cross with vines and flowers 
 in honour of the coming month of May. Angela sat 
 down and watched them, letting her eye wander over 
 the road she had come, through the glistening marsh- 
 land to the towers of the city, rising abruptly against a 
 background of sky changed now to deep purple. 
 
 The long twilight was not yet ended when she reached 
 the hotel an hour later. 
 
 Angela was fairly off on her travels ; she had seen 
 two cities without Georgina's aid and was starting for 
 a third. She had not yet felt those pangs of solitude 
 which Georgina had so feelingly prophesied the last 
 evening they sat together. She had enj oyed her day in 
 Angers. She had not accomplished all a really con- 
 scientious traveller on mind improvement bent should 
 have done, but she had enjoyed herself perfectly in her 
 own peculiar way. The inside and outside of the Mu- 
 see Darrault and the other buildings of the town she had 
 sufficiently impressed upon her imagination to furnish 
 rich backgrounds for any romances she would invent for 
 her own entertainment in future hours of leisure. The 
 readers of her book-to-be were quite forgotten, as was 
 the accuracy needed for such a work. To tell the 
 truth, the book itself had gone quite out of her mind. 
 
64 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Before dinner she sent a postal crad to Georgina. She 
 selected a picture of the solemn, gloomy chateau. The 
 space for correspondence surrounding the view was 
 limited, therefore she only wrote: 
 
 " I have had an enchanting day and met lots of 
 friends." There was still a line remaining blank, so she 
 scribbled : " One of them seemed amused at nothing." 
 
 It was the first news Georgina got from her sister 
 after reaching San Remo. She was naturally some- 
 what puzzled by its ambiguous character. 
 
Chapter III 
 
 SATTMUE 
 
 ^4 NGELA had awakened on the next morning to 
 find that a cold rain was coming steadily down, and cow- 
 ering under the downy quilt she found herself a kindred 
 spirit to those French grandes dames of the eighteenth 
 century who spent most of their time in bed. She 
 jumped up to close the long window which had been 
 letting in the rain and the damp air, and the polished 
 floor was as chilly to the touch as a street sidewalk. 
 
 " Decidement, the bed is a good place," she ex- 
 claimed, as she leaped back into its warm shelter and 
 drank her coffee. She settled herself among the pil- 
 lows, wrote a few postal cards to send to the United 
 States, counted her money, darned a hole in her stock- 
 ing, consulted the time-table. Then the valet knocked 
 to say her bath was ready. 
 
 With that adaptability to surroundings which in 
 reality made Angela a much better traveller than the 
 wise Georgina, she had come in four days to forget that 
 such a servant as a chambermaid ever existed. The 
 valet-de-chambre, in his picturesque, striped waistcoat, 
 had brought up her coffee every morning to her bed, had 
 hooked up her complicated bodice where her own expe- 
 rienced fingers could not reach, and had even suggested 
 that her gown was not put on as straight as it should 
 
 65 
 
66 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 be. With the sole exception of that reigning power, 
 the landlady, French country inns harbour few female 
 servants. 
 
 Her next stopping place was Saumur, chosen not 
 only because it was closely associated with one of 
 Fulk the Black's choicest exploits, but because it was 
 in the close vicinity of Fontevraud, that last resting 
 place of Richard Cceur de Lion and his father, Henry II. 
 Having visited the nest wherein the eagles of Anjou 
 were hatched, she wished to follow them to the spot 
 where they lay buried. 
 
 Saumur is not many leagues removed from Angers. 
 The ambling train travels there in one hour's time, so 
 there was no need of hurrying. She would take an early 
 dejeuner here in Angers and go at her leisure. When 
 Angela Victoria was finally ready for her last look at the 
 town she discovered that her sister's dark prophecy con- 
 cerning the weather, and likewise that one concerning 
 her own carelessness, had been fulfilled. Where was her 
 umbrella? She needed it now for the first time, and it 
 was missing. She searched the room and the anxious 
 valet crawled under the bed and explored the most inac- 
 cessible corners without result. She made a rapid and 
 mental review of all the trains, cabs, omnibuses and ho- 
 tels she had been in since she began her short journey, 
 but her memory refused to discern the umbrella. 
 
 It was pouring steadily ; she must have protection, so, 
 borrowing for the moment of her hostess, she sallied 
 forth to a " grand bazar " near by, there to replace the 
 very necessary article she had so soon mislaid. 
 
 One of the late modern achievements in every French 
 
Saumur 67 
 
 provincial town is the department store. These are 
 usually entitled " Le Grand Bazar," " Le Petit Ba- 
 zar," " Au Paradis des Marchands," and other enticing 
 names. They are most tempting to travellers like An- 
 gela Victoria. From seductive stationery and postal 
 cards at lowest possible rates, the gamut mounted 
 to baby carriages, perfumery, photographic supplies, 
 articles de voyage, mercerie, china, choice bric-a-brac 
 and irresistible souvenirs. Angela left the particular 
 bazaar she visited with the indispensable umbrella, cost- 
 ing two francs, fifty centimes, pronounced bien soUde 
 by the clerk, and with five francs' worth of unnecessary 
 stationery. 
 
 " If I ever get time to write my book, I may be unable 
 to buy good paper as cheap as this is." 
 
 The two fox terriers and curly spaniel who helped 
 to keep the " Grand Hotel " defied the weather and, 
 probably in grateful remembrance of several lumps of 
 sugar surreptitiously distributed among them by An- 
 gela, braved the wet and accompanied her to the door of 
 the omnibus as she was leaving. The dogs would have 
 gone to the station if not restrained by their mistress, 
 who reminded them that they were unmuzzled, and in the 
 same breath wished the guest an " au revoir " which was 
 as hearty as if her stay had lasted months instead of 
 hours. 
 
 The drive to the station was through a dull part of 
 the town not improved by the storm. 
 
 Beyond the city limits piles of broken slate like that 
 on which the town was erected were lying by the 
 track. Angela laughed quietly to herself at the sight 
 
68 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 of the sluny black slabs. Her mind jumped back to the 
 days when her passion for a glistening, clean slate was 
 indulged at the expense of strictly sanitary methods 
 and frequently brought down the wrath of her meek 
 teacher upon her offending mouth. " If I could have 
 trimmed the frame with yellow wreaths as these great 
 slates are decorated, I am sure she would have let me 
 spit on it all I chose," murmured Angela, half aloud, 
 filled with admiration at the artistic effect of the 
 great bunches of golden genet gleaming like sunshine 
 around the tablets of black rock. 
 
 In the carriage was an old cure who industriously read 
 his breviary, and a farmer who eyed the gentle old 
 man with modern French suspicion. They remained 
 with her as far as Les Rosiers, a charming little town 
 where a statue commemorates the gay Jeanne de Laval, 
 the beloved second wife of good King Rene. 
 
 The skies ceased to weep, but still looked very sulky. 
 The dark slate and its yellow flowers had given place 
 to widely cultivated fields which rolled away in fertile 
 furrows until the great yellow castle of Saumur, square 
 and turreted, loomed high on the horizon above a 
 small town stretched along the opposite bank of the 
 Loire. 
 
 The inhospitality of the weather made Angela's 
 hospitable reception at the " Hotel Budan " doubly 
 acceptable. The traveller fell in love at once with her 
 amiable, elderly hosts and their friendly dachshund, who 
 came forth in their company to meet her with fawning 
 politeness. She felt at home at once. No ascenseur 
 Was needed here. The broad, low, curving staircase led 
 
Saumur 69 
 
 by easy steps to the cosy room on the first landing of- 
 fered for her inspection. 
 
 Angela pulled back the curtain of her long window 
 and looked out on the rushing Loire. 
 
 There are compensations to be found by optimistic 
 minds in all trying circumstances. Angela Victoria 
 now rejoiced greatly to see for the first time the Loire 
 worthy of its title, a great river. On her various and 
 many expeditions a-touring in Touraine, the River Loire 
 had always presented itself as a capricious little stream 
 trickling through sandbars. The body of water racing 
 and running at high speed under the long bridge just 
 outside the hotel was a phase of its being she never had 
 witnessed. The valet, Jean, lit a crackling little fire, 
 cackling pleasantly to himself the while, and bustling 
 about he pushed an armchair up to the window, saying : 
 
 " Madame can amuse herself for a while, I am sure. 
 The showers will not last. Such pelting averses soon 
 pass over Saumur. There are always the donkeys and 
 the market women passing over the bridge to see, as 
 well as the fine cavalrymen from the school and the 
 omnibus of the " Hotel Budan ! " 
 
 " The omnibus ? " she inquired, not quite understand- 
 ing. 
 
 " Mais bien sur! It passes at every moment. There 
 are so many trains. Saumur is a great junction," he 
 said proudly. 
 
 The bridge was a tossing sea of big umbrellas and 
 pointed hoods. Angela decided then and there to pur- 
 chase immediately one of those useful capes which 
 these hoods adorn, for no waterproof of her experience 
 
70 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 seemed to protect so thoroughly against the weather. 
 " Then it will not matter whether I lose my umbrella or 
 not," she concluded, desperately. When the entertain- 
 ment from the crowd ceased to interest her, Angela sent 
 her fancy floating off down the rushing waves of the 
 historic river "to the country where the kings she was 
 following to their burial place had wrought so many 
 deeds, knightly, heroic, and romantic. About three 
 o'clock she was overcome by a gnawing desire for 
 gouter. There was sure to be a cake shop near, and 
 she had eaten nothing since her dejeuner at eleven 
 o'clock. The rain looked inclined to stop, but it was 
 still drizzling sufficiently to force her to unfurl her 
 cheap new umbrella, which she admired hugely. She 
 walked quite a distance up the broad street, around the 
 corner from the hotel, before she saw any cakes which 
 were dainty enough to suit her palate. There were 
 •patisseries in plenty, but the wares they displayed did 
 not tempt her. When she finally found a most attrac- 
 tive shop the spitting rain again came down in a pelt- 
 ing shower and lasted long enough to nearly eause her 
 to ruin her digestion by tasting every cake in the shop. 
 The clouds luckily exhausted themselves before all her 
 appetite for dinner was hopelessly gone, and when they 
 scurried away, leaving a bit of blue sky, Angela en- 
 tered a narrow street, too narrow and slanting for the 
 boldest motor car to attempt, and climbed the steep, 
 roughly paved way, neglecting the queer old twelfth 
 century church, until on up over the grass-grown cob- 
 bles, through the silent, winding lanes, under over- 
 hanging gables and unexpected tourelles, which cling 
 
Sawmur 71 
 
 like dovecotes to the ancient houses, she came to the 
 topmost point of the hill, where a cone-shaped mound 
 girt with trees stands above the castle. She went over 
 the drawbridge, and rang at the massive door in the 
 castle wall. 
 
 The stronghold was garrisoned by a feeble old 
 woman and a tiny little girl, who with one arm swung 
 back the heavy portal and with the other clasped a 
 mutilated doll. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " exclaimed Angela, who expected at least 
 a warder with huge keys to admit her to such an impos- 
 ing entrance. The old woman was washing clothes at 
 an ancient well and silently waved permission for the 
 visitor to wander where she pleased. There was not 
 another living being visible. The great castle loomed 
 up across the vast courtyard, its octagonal towers ris- 
 ing on the edge of a precipice against the cloudy sky. 
 The intervening space, which, perchance, was formerly 
 the knights' tilting ground, was carpeted with coarse 
 turf. This mediaeval stronghold is now an arsenal, and 
 the open towers of former times have been covered 
 with shallow roofs. Angela strolled across the quad- 
 rangle and, leaning over a wall, looked at the deserted 
 old chateau. Although on the verge of a cliff, a deep 
 moat ran between the place where she stood and the 
 castle foundations. A pretty garden, with blossoming 
 peach trees, occupied the deep, wide trench, a grace- 
 ful bit of colour against the ochre of the walls. The 
 outworks of this strong castle were dug in the rock and 
 then strengthened by walls raised on these solid founda- 
 tions. The commanding position it occupies was 
 
72 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 early seized upon by the Romans; they built here one 
 of their first citadels when they came to dominate Gaul ; 
 after they had left the country, the Tour du Tronc, 
 which may have been the remains of the Roman keep, 
 served as a refuge for the peasants when they fled from 
 the Norman pirates who swept down the Loire. 
 
 Later, the monks of St. Florence built, adjoining the 
 keep, a fortified monastery, in which to protect the relics 
 of their patron saint. The sanctuary was made nearly 
 impregnable, and Fulk of Anjou, who had tried at 
 various times to assail it, only succeeded when Gelduin, 
 lord of this country, and called the " Devil of Saumur, 
 of whom the Devil of Anjou was afraid," incautiously 
 left his home. Then Fulk descended rapidly by night 
 on Saumur. Although the loyal citizens burned their 
 town rather than deliver it into his hands, they could 
 not save the castle from his rapacious might. The 
 monks of St. Florence marched out of the citadel bear- 
 ing the relics of their patron. Their conqueror stood 
 in full armour watching them, and cried out to the 
 saint : 
 
 " Let the ruins burn, Holy Florence ; I will give thee 
 a much better home in Angers ! " 
 
 The saint, in spite of these fine promises, objected 
 to leaving the territory of Saumur. The boat contain- 
 ing his relics stuck on the sandbars of the Loire, and 
 though Fulk swore he was " an impious rustic who 
 would not allow himself to be well treated," the monks 
 could make the boat move no further. Fulk finally 
 allowed the saint to land at that spot and built an 
 
Saumur 73 
 
 abbey there, after possessing himself of the Castle of 
 Saumur. 
 
 Angela, peering over the wall above the garden moat, 
 saw in the inner court graceful windows and carved 
 balconies, now falling into decay, recalling King Rene 
 and the days when he came to Saumur and made it gay 
 with the life his daughters and his wife Jeanne brought 
 to the old castle. Ruined though they be, these delicate 
 stone traceries still remain, and in fancy Angela pic- 
 tured Margaret of Anjou, not then England's unhappy 
 Queen, in gay flowing robes, surrounded by her ladies, 
 leaning over the stone balustrades to watch the pages 
 and the dashing squires play in this inner court. How 
 forlorn it must have been without sunlight ; in this for- 
 bidding stronghold few are the windows looking out 
 upon the splendid view above the river. All the case- 
 ments were on this dull court, which, lovely as its stone 
 work appears, must have been dark and dreary. Angela 
 shuddered in the damp air and thought of a life 
 without hot water and rooms with stone floors and 
 draughts everywhere. How cold and uncomfortable a 
 castle must have been as a dwelling place ! She greatly 
 preferred the " Hotel Budan " and Jean's little fire. 
 The clouds flying away over the broad country, the blue 
 reflected here and there in the far-winding river, an 
 undecided rainbow climbing up out of the feathery, 
 green swaying poplars in the distance, all seemed to 
 promise a fair morrow. On the cliff stretching along 
 beyond the castle wall, windmills were waving their huge 
 arms desperately about, hard at work in the driving wind. 
 
74 A Spring 'Fortnight in France 
 
 Angela likewise waved a farewell to the ghosts gathered 
 in the darkening windows and left hurriedly. 
 
 The small warder got a few pennies to buy a new 
 arm and leg for her doll. The old grandmother, now 
 hanging out clothes on the side of a bastion, waved a 
 greeting, and "when the great gate was swung silently 
 into place Angela made her descent by a narrow flight 
 of stone steps lying between high garden walls, over 
 which floated the scent of freshly watered shrubbery. 
 The stairs were wet, and it was with peril she reached 
 the lower street, which came out below the narrow way 
 close upon Notre Dame de Nantilly, the quaintest and 
 most delightful church in Saumur. It was built in 
 instalments, added from the sixth to the twelfth cen- 
 tury. Rene of Anjou, the poetic King of the Two 
 Sicilies, loved Saumur and this queer old church. He 
 placed on one of the columns here a tenderly grateful 
 epitaph to the memory of his old nurse, Thiephaine : 
 
 La nourrice Thiephaine 
 La magine qui de grant paine 
 Nourrir de let en enfance 
 Marie d' Anjou, royne de France 
 Due d' Anjou et depuis nomme 
 Et apres son frere Ren6 
 Comme encor est 
 Roi de Sicile. 
 
 The rough old walls are hung with rich tapestries of 
 great antiquity. The wear and tear of centuries have 
 failed to dull the brilliant hues of the red and green 
 costumes worn in these hangings by the Roman soldiers, 
 who are represented as storming the walls of Jeru- 
 
Saumur 75 
 
 salem with primitive firearms, very like giant pea- 
 shooters. The walls of the Holy City are so low that 
 any one of the attacking warriors could easily step 
 over them, if he happened to think about it. Another 
 delightful bit of the same handiwork pictures the Ado- 
 ration of the Shepherds and the expressive countenances 
 bestowed by the artist on the ox and the ass is worth 
 a journey to see. In the background of this needle- 
 work landscape are farms, castles, most wonderful trees 
 and such precipitous meadows that the shepherds play- 
 ing on pipes appear to be seated comfortably in the 
 air. Nor are these works of art the only deliciously 
 humorous touches about the walls of Notre Dame. The 
 free fancy of the stone carvers exceeded even that of 
 the makers of the tapestries. The capitals of the pil- 
 lars supporting the arches are wrought with fishes 
 bearing ludicrous human faces ; with a whole community 
 of grotesque monks walking in single file and with 
 monkeys biting at the wings of impossible creatures 
 who seem to be half swans and half dachshunds; on 
 another is St. George, with his head twisted around, 
 trying to kill a mild-looking dragon, who does not 
 resist his fate. Every sort of absurdity suggested by 
 the weird imaginations of the Middle Ages ; that sense 
 of humour and love of caricature latent in human 
 nature, which at that early period had no other outlet, 
 found expression in the decorations of churches. 
 
 It had grown cold ; it was dreary walking back to the 
 hotel, but Jean again built a quick, jolly little fire of 
 small sticks in the grate, and it soon gave forth a 
 grateful heat. The dining-room was cheerful and 
 
76 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 warm, and a most attentive waiter served Angela with 
 an appetising dinner, and her host assured her that 
 she was quite right in her belief that the sun would 
 shine next day. She was happy and content. After 
 dreaming an hour or two before the cheerful little 
 grate, her mind r distracted from the necessity of doing 
 any writing by the thought of black Fulk and his 
 wickedness, varied by a contemplation of the absorb- 
 ing question as to why all men chambermaids were 
 named Jean, she got into the bed, piled fully half way 
 up to the ceiling with springy mattresses, by mounting 
 a chair and jumping into the downy heap, and was soon 
 off fast on her way to the land of rest, lulled by the 
 sound of the dropping rain. 
 
 rONTEVBATTI> 
 
 Having mooned over the birthplace and lost her 
 way in the ancestral home of the greatest of the An- 
 gevin kings, Angela Victoria prepared herself to visit 
 his burial place, the great Abbey of Fontevraud, which 
 is but nine miles from Saumur, whether you take them 
 by tramway or by motor car. 
 
 The former was the sole conveyance possible for a 
 solitary woman, and under the circumstances by far the 
 most amusing. A small train of three cars starts 
 from the very door of the Hotel Sudan ; for the 
 weighty sum of fifty centimes she occupied the entire 
 first-class section and amused herself in looking through 
 a glass door into the second-class compartment, where 
 jolly peasant women pretended to be very much alarmed 
 at every flap of the live fowls they were carrying home 
 
Saumur 77 
 
 in their baskets. The tram follows the river as far as 
 the old Chateau of Montsoreau, then strikes back 
 through a vine-clad valley until the line reaches the 
 foot of the long hill crowned by the great Abbey 
 Church. There it stops. 
 
 The doubtful rainbow of the evening before had 
 fulfilled its promise : the day was glowing with sunshine. 
 Angela started on her expedition as soon as she had 
 finished an early luncheon. The woods between the 
 white road and the river were full of the tenderness 
 expressed by groves of young trees just flaunting 
 their new-born leaves when glistening water forms 
 the background of the picture. When the tram- 
 way left the river to roll along between the banks 
 of richly cultivated country Angela looked about, hop- 
 ing to find some remains of the dense woods in which 
 Robert d'Abrissel, the Breton priest, and his pious pil- 
 grim followers established themselves at the end of 
 the eleventh century. The territory then belonged to 
 the lords of Montrieul-Bellay. In the beginning the 
 religieuse lived in grottoes cut out of the tufa rock and 
 in small cabins which they built for themselves. It was 
 a unique community composed of men and women, in 
 which eventually the women were to take the chief 
 place. Robert d'Abrissel, a preacher of the Crusades 
 whose eloquence had gathered about him a motley crew 
 of both sexes of every age and degree, an ill-assorted 
 multitude of good and bad who dogged his footsteps 
 everywhere, finding these crowds hard to manage, came 
 to this valley, and obtaining permission of the seigneur, 
 he stopped here with his company. 
 
78 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 The men and the women he divided into two com- 
 munities, separated by a deep ditch and a high hedge. 
 All he required of the women was to sing the praises 
 of God and the Virgin ; the men conducted the spiritual 
 exercises and took upon their shoulders the burden of 
 the hardest labour. Everyone who came was admitted 
 to the fold: old and young, sick and well, rich and 
 poor; even the lepers were not rejected. Before long 
 monastery buildings were erected ; one for the men and 
 three for the women. Le Grand Moutier, for virgins 
 and widows ; St. Lazare, for the sick and leprous, while 
 La Madelaine harboured the sinners. The men's monas- 
 tery was dedicated to St. John the Evangelist. 
 
 The vast abbey grew and spread, favoured by the 
 nobles and the potentates of the surrounding provinces. 
 Both the male and female religieuse were under the 
 direction of an abbess appointed by Robert d'AbrisseL 
 A near relative of the Count of Anjou, Herlande de 
 Champagne, the widow of the Sieur de Montsoreau, 
 was the first to whom this honour was tendered. The 
 founder himself submitted to the judgment of this 
 lady, and later, the Pope, influenced by Robert, who 
 understood the value of powerful patronage, ordained 
 that the Abbess of Fontevraud should always be se- 
 lected from among women who had occupied a high 
 social position in the world, giving as a reason that 
 such women knew better how to conduct themselves 
 with dignity and calmness than the recluse, who, reared 
 in a convent, was only wise in spiritual matters. 
 
 There were very strict rules enforced concerning 
 the separation of the sexes, and the use of wine was 
 
Saumur 79 
 
 unconditionally prohibited. The dress of the nuns con- 
 sisted of a long white robe with a black cowl and a 
 twisted girdle or black belt. They wore a pleated ■fichu 
 of batiste, white shoes and stockings and a black veil. 
 When they left the monastery they covered their habit 
 with a long, soft mantle of black. The men wore a 
 black tunic and black girdle, with a large capuchin 
 hood and cape. On the front and the back of their 
 costume two long pieces of cloth about the width of 
 a hand, called roberts, fell nearly to the edge of their 
 gown. . 
 
 The House of Anjou was associated with the Abbey 
 from the first day of its organisation. Its destiny be- 
 came linked with that of the kings of England still 
 more firmly when Matilda, widow of the Atheling, sis- 
 ter of Geoffrey Plantagenet, retired to its famous en- 
 closure and became for a time its abbess. Eleanor of 
 Guyenne, the wife of Henry II., lived some years in the 
 monastery and built the walls surrounding it. Her 
 daughter Joan was educated there, who after the death 
 of her husband, Raymond of Toulouse, King of Sicily, 
 took the veil, dying there the same year which wit- 
 nessed the burial of her brother, Richard Cceur de 
 Lion. The criticism of contemporaries that the Fonte- 
 vrists were " under the rule of the distaff " was an- 
 swered by the assertion that the church was under the 
 dominion of the Blessed Virgin. It was an enormously 
 rich order. Sixteen royal princesses figured among its 
 abbesses, and the daughters of the French kings were 
 sent there to be educated. 
 
 The Abbey endured until the time of the Revolution, 
 
80 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 growing constantly wealthier and more arrogant. Its 
 aristocratic tendencies and the royal blood of the 
 abbess of that period, who was a great-granddaughter 
 of Madame de Montespan, brought down upon the mon- 
 astery the fury of the " Reds of Saumur." A hooting 
 mob burst in^o the enclosure, doing wild violence to 
 all it contained, and after working fearful havoc fled, 
 yelling as it went : " The royal Abbey is fallen ! " 
 
 Some years after the Revolution this regal Abbey 
 became a penal institution. The splendid church was 
 at one time divided into four floors and used as dor- 
 mitories, but is now being rapidly restored to its orig- 
 inal condition as a monument historique. 
 
 The present town of Fontevraud, full of shabby 
 relics of the priories which constituted its glory in 
 the past, is now somewhat squalid. Angela walked 
 slowly up the long, sloping, country road leading from 
 the tramway station to the Abbey gates, looking as 
 she went at the immense slate roof of the great church 
 showing above the wall; she followed along the line of 
 the enclosure of the Abbey, through muddy lanes and 
 out into open fields, to catch a glimpse from time to 
 time, when the ground was high enough, of beautifully 
 ornamented gables and f acades in the inner courts of 
 the prison, shut away from visitors' eyes. 
 
 When, after her long walk, she reached the abbey 
 entrance gate, a gentleman was standing there, who, 
 with that perfect confidence in the universal knowl- 
 edge of his language which distinguishes the Anglo- 
 Saxon, said to her calmly, as he saw her about to grasp 
 the long handle which sounded the bell; 
 
Saumur 81 
 
 " I have just rung." 
 
 " An American," she thought to herself. Looking 
 up to thank him, she saw a face which seemed familiar 
 to her. Where she had seen it she could not recall. 
 Then he smiled. 
 
 "The man at Anjou!" she said to herself. "How 
 could I forget his face ! " He was a tall man, with 
 clear-cut features, blue eyes, and hair originally blond, 
 but now turning grey at the temples. He might have 
 been thirty-five, he might have been fifty. Angela 
 was not a good judge of a man's age. Actually this 
 man had just completed his forty-third year on earth. 
 
 A porter opened the door to admit them. Their 
 ring had evidently disturbed his luncheon hour, for he 
 held what the boys of the United States would call a 
 hunk of bread in one hand, while in the other he brand- 
 ished a knife. He laughingly excused his appearance 
 when he saw who the visitors were, and smilingly con- 
 ducted them across an outer court, directing their atten- 
 tion to the carved facade of a charming little house he 
 said had once been a dwelling of the abbess, turning 
 them over to the care of a dapper little soldier dangling 
 a huge bunch of keys, who led them under an archway 
 through a smaller court, where he unlocked a massive 
 door and ushered them into the superb cloisters 
 adjoining the church. 
 
 Some prisoners neatly clad in brown scurried through 
 and entered what the guide said had formerly been the 
 refectory of the abbess. Luckily, the heavy oak door 
 through which they went did not close until the visitors 
 got a good look at the fine stone vaulting and carved 
 
82 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 walls within. The ancient chapter room, at present in 
 process of restoration, opens upon these cloisters. The 
 fine twelfth century archway of the great portal is 
 heavily carved. 
 
 They entered the church through a small side door, 
 coming directly upon the nave, where a large corps 
 of workmen were busy repairing the fearful damages 
 done by ruthless hands during the last century. In 
 less than five years, the guide declared, English visitors 
 will find these lofty aisles restored to the grandeur 
 they possessed when Richard Coeur de Lion strode down 
 them to stand beside his royal father's bier before the 
 high altar. Climbing over building stones and the 
 debris scattered about by the workmen,. Angela and 
 her companion at last stood in the choir. There the 
 guide skipped nimbly along on top of the long benches 
 without backs, whereon the prisoners sit when they 
 come to hear Mass, and beckoned to the visitors to 
 follow him. As gracefully as possible Angela pursued 
 the perilous path and finally arrived at the grating of 
 a small rough chapel, quite in keeping with its environs, 
 where, low on the stone floor, their former altar pedi- 
 ments gone the sad way of so many French monuments, 
 are placed the noble effigies of Henry II., of Eleanor of 
 Aquitaine, of Richard Coeur de Lion, and of Isabelle 
 of Angoulome, the beautiful and wicked wife of King 
 John. 
 
 These fine statues, which have had a most uneasy his- 
 tory since they originally were placed by one of the 
 pillars in the choir or under the central tower, are in 
 a good state of preservation. They have been some- 
 
IN THE ABBEY OF FONTEVRAUD 
 
Saumur 83 
 
 what restored, but the rich colour still lingers on the 
 garments and they have a rare artistic, as well as 
 deeply romantic, interest for all who are of Anglo- 
 Saxon birth. The effigies of Richard and his father 
 and that of his mother are carved in stone. The statue 
 of Isabelle is of wood. How they chanced to escape 
 the revolutionary mob which destroyed the monuments 
 of the Queen of Sicily and her husband, Raymond of 
 Toulouse, is unknown. 
 
 When the Abbey fell into decay these statues were 
 put into the queer old Tour d'Evrault, once the kitchen 
 of the Abbey. There they remained for eighteen years, 
 until removed 1 to a damp cellar where the prisoners 
 went to draw water. An Englishman who came to 
 Fontevraud at this period saw them in this latter place, 
 degraded and chipped in places by their careless guar- 
 dians. They once got as far as Versailles on their way 
 to England, which had petitioned France to restore 
 them, but a storm of indignation which was aroused in 
 Anjou caused them to be brought back to their present 
 resting place. 
 
 After all, were not these potentates more French than 
 English? And they had elected to rest after death at 
 Fontevraud. 
 
 The guide stood patiently aside and waited while 
 Angela and her companion peered through the bars 
 at the interesting effigies. The two kings are repre- 
 sented lying on draped biers, such as those on which 
 they reposed when placed before the high altar. 
 
 Angela glanced furtively at her companion, fancying 
 that she detected a resemblance in his countenance to 
 
84 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 that of Coeur de Lion. The brow and the straight nose 
 were very like, but the dead monarch wore a short- 
 cropped beard which masked the mouth and chin. She 
 couldn't decide about the likeness there. 
 
 She was startled from her short reverie by her 
 companion's voice: 
 
 " They were kingly looking men, were they not? 
 Richard was one of my boyhood heroes ! The hours I 
 spent in his adventurous company when I should have 
 been at more serious tasks is what has brought me here 
 to-day." 
 
 " So poetic, so reckless, so courageous, so full of 
 mastery ! " she said, excitedly. " He had the true mak- 
 ing of a hero." 
 
 "Yet the tradition-breakers of to-day, the really, 
 truly, sober, practical history makers of this century, 
 don't think much of that big fellow down there. They 
 say he was a bad husband, a worse son, and a king 
 who bled his wretched English subjects both financially 
 and physically to further his craze for crusading. I 
 don't care a bit for his sins, when I remember the 
 way I used to go about and storm around the back- 
 yard in imitation of the manner in which he cleft a 
 whole army of Saracens' heads with his battle-axe, as 
 my thumb-worn romantic history vividly described. I 
 refuse to believe any of the truths concerning him." 
 
 Angela glowed: " I know he must have been a great- 
 hearted, whole-souled, fascinating, fearless creature. 
 Don't you believe his father and his brothers treated 
 him outrageously?" 
 
 The gentleman smiled incredulously. " Perhaps 
 
Saumur 85 
 
 they did; but he paid them back every time in hard 
 cash for all he owed them. That is sure enough." 
 
 The guide moved impatiently forward over the 
 benches, went toward the altar and out again under 
 the arch of the nave, until he led to where Henry II., 
 broken with age, sorrow and disease, lay after death 
 in state before the high altar. He had died at his 
 favourite castle of Chinon, confessing his sins aloud be- 
 fore the altar of the chapel there. No sooner was the 
 breath out of his body than his servants stripped him 
 naked. One faithful knight alone remained to cover 
 the body with his cloak, until Geoffrey, his natural son, 
 who alone of all the children loved the King, came to 
 clothe the dead form in what regal splendour he could 
 gather together. A train of knights then conveyed 
 the body of the deceased monarch to Fontevraud, where 
 his bier rested among the praying nuns in the church 
 that the prophecy might be fulfilled that in death " he 
 should lie shrouded among shrouded women." 
 
 In the nave of this church took place the terrible 
 scenes so graphically described by Kate Norgate in the 
 " Angevin Kings " : " To the dead sovereign came the 
 new king, Richard, making the echoes of this ancient 
 fane ring with the clatter of his heavy mailed tread. 
 The rebellious son stood beside the dead father and 
 looked down on the severe, frigid countenance whereon 
 was stamped the passions and sorrows of an eventful life. 
 As he gazed a dark stream of blood trickled from the 
 nostrils of the corpse, a phenomenon which, natural 
 though it was, struck horror into the superstitious soul 
 of his son and of the watching courtiers. Richard, 
 
86 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 overcome with terror, sank on his knees and prayed. 
 Then he arose and vowed to seek pardon by a crusade 
 to the Holy Land " — a kind of penance he thoroughly 
 enjoyed, but which caused the kingdom he had inher- 
 ited untold misery. 
 
 As the regulations of the prison forbid visitors pene- 
 trating further into the precincts of the former abbey, 
 the guide could show them no more. Angela and her 
 companion loitered in the cloisters and in the inner 
 court, trying to recall vividly the former Kfe in this 
 great monastery. 
 
 " There must have been frequently great doings in 
 this old place," he said, " if we can believe the chron- 
 icles. I like to think of the kings who came here to be 
 entertained in splendid fashion, with their trains of gay 
 court ladies." 
 
 " Oh, how I wish I could have seen the pride just one 
 such gathering ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 He laughed? " Except for the fact that men no 
 longer go about in gaudy garments and with waving 
 feathers, I fancy you could see just as much finery to- 
 day in London, New York or Paris as ever came to 
 Fontevraud." 
 
 "Oh, do you think so? " Her tone was one of bitter 
 disappointment. " I never could believe that any mod- 
 ern assemblage could be half as splendid as when the 
 last abbess came riding in to take possession of her 
 office, with hautboys, flutes and trumpets, escorted by 
 a gaudy band of carabineers and a host of magnifi- 
 cently attired friends from the court ! " 
 
 " And she died on a miserable straw pallet in a 
 
Sauinuf &¥ 
 
 Paris hospital, luckily escaping the guillotine. I got 
 my learning from T. A. Cook in ' Old Touraine.' 
 Where did you get yours? " 
 
 Angela laughingly confessed to the same source of 
 wisdom. They parted from their dapper little guide 
 in the court near the residence of the abbess. He re- 
 fused the fee offered with becoming dignity. 
 
 " By George! This is a new experience! " exclaimed 
 the gentleman, whom Angela Victoria secretly dubbed 
 " Cceur de Xion," through that fancied resemblance she 
 had discovered. They both thanked the man in their 
 best manner, she in French and he in English. 
 
 " I felt like shaking hands with him," he laughed. 
 
 A file of prisoners came out of the gateway they had 
 just left. 
 
 " The poor devils have a mighty fine place to live in. 
 I am nqt sure I shouldn't enjoy it myself. This is 
 what might be called being confined to artistic sur- 
 roundings." 
 
 The porter who admitted them again swung back the 
 great door of the fortified gateway to allow them to 
 pass. He had finished the big piece of bread while they 
 were in the presence of the kings, and ushered them out 
 into the dreary street. Angela looked with regret after 
 the tall figure, as, raising his hat ceremoniously, the gen- 
 tleman strode off down one of the decayed avenues of 
 the town. He seemed thoroughly in keeping with the 
 place. She secretly wished he would go back on the 
 tram with her. Looking about for a Kttle shop where 
 post cards were sold, she spied one across the muddy 
 street. The entrance was blocked by a young soldier, 
 
88 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 who leaned against the doorpost, and in spite of his 
 martial attire was frankly and ingenuously crying. 
 Great tears rolled out of his blue eyes and down the 
 rosy red cheeks of his boyish face. He made way 
 for Angela to pass, and then went off slowly down 
 the street. She stood for a moment staring after 
 him, overcome by the spectacle. Then she went into 
 the shop, which had as promiscuous a lot of goods to 
 sell as any country store in an out-of-the-way American 
 town. " Why was that soldier weeping? " she asked 
 the woman behind the counter. 
 
 " He has been ordered to Paris," the shopkeeper ex- 
 plained, sympathetically. " He does not want to go." 
 
 " Not want to go to Paris ! " cried Angela. " I 
 thought Paris was the Mecca of all Frenchmen. But 
 pourquoi done? What is the reason? " 
 
 " Ah, nous autre! — we are peasants ! Ce petit sol- 
 dat " — pointing with his thumb at the weeping warrior 
 going slowly away — " he, too, is the son of a peasant. 
 He is afraid of Paris. It is said that some who go 
 there are never seen again. I have been once to Paris. 
 C'est superbe, la grande ville, sans doute! But for me, 
 I find Saumur fine enough ! " 
 
 "Ah, dam! " put in his wife, who was picking out the 
 cards for Angela. " It is those English who have cour- 
 age! They come so far. Every day in summer we 
 have them here! Some cannot speak the language. 
 Some do not even know the money. Ah, they have a 
 courage ! " 
 
 Then, while Angela bought post cards at a franc 
 the dozen, the old woman gave her a graphic descrip- 
 
Saumur 89 
 
 tion, interlarded with ejaculations from her husband, 
 who did not wish to be left out of the conversation, of 
 an Englishman who once left behind on the counter a 
 gold sovereign to pay for only two francs' worth of 
 post cards. At first the old woman did not recognise 
 the foreign gold piece ; when she discovered what it was, 
 she, with her daughter, afraid they might be accused 
 of robbery, ran breathlessly to the bottom of the hill 
 after the man, trying to return the change. 
 
 " But he was in a big auto and we caught nothing 
 but the dust." 
 
 "And the smell!" jeered the merry old husband. 
 
 " Has Madame travelled far? " his wife said quickly, 
 changing the subject. 
 
 Madame confessed to having travelled as far as the 
 United States. 
 
 " Ah, well," said the woman, determined to undo her 
 sneers concerning foreigners, " that is not so bad, 
 since they all speak French there!" Angela wickedly 
 concealed the fact that some of the benighted Americans 
 preferred on all occasions to use the Anglo-Saxon 
 tongue. 
 
 Nothing would she have enjoyed more than gossip- 
 ing away a long hour with these naive and amusing 
 shopkeepers. But the man, who was leaning against 
 the doorpost, with his hands in his pockets, suddenly 
 took them out, and letting his trig blue blouse fall 
 about his hips, pointed excitedly down the hill at the 
 engine of the small tram, which was getting up steam 
 for its return to town. 
 
 "Madame must hurry if she would get back to 
 
90 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Saumur to-night. It is with great regret we see her 
 go, but alas! this is the last tram." He smiled and 
 bowed as gracefully as a courtier, and his good wife 
 came out from behind the counter to say heartily, "Au 
 revoir." 
 
 Angela took* a last look at the great gate of the 
 Abbey and the old tower of its church, and left her 
 new acquaintances as regretfully as they expressed 
 themselves in parting with her. The companion 
 of her afternoon visit to the Abbey did not appear. 
 She made the journey back to Saumur alone, save for 
 a fat, loud-voiced countryman, who kept up a running 
 conversation with the conductor on the platform about 
 the crops. The car slid down the nourishing valley 
 between the Abbey and the river, and there on the bank 
 they waited at a switch. Angela got out, and the con- 
 ductor courteously promised to call her in ample time 
 if she desired to walk a few steps beyond where they 
 were waiting to a point where she could get a better 
 view of the rugged Chateau of Montsoreau. This fine 
 old specimen of a feudal dwelling was the home of the 
 heroine of Dumas' thrilling novel, " Diane de Montso- 
 reau." Here she dwelt with her stern husband, Jean de 
 Chambes, although the noted fight and assassination of 
 her valiant lover, Bussy d'Amboise, so vividly described 
 by Dumas, really took place at the Chateau of Coutan- 
 ciere, which is not far from Saumur, but in another 
 direction. 
 
 The base of the towers of Montsoreau formerly 
 rose from the waters of the Loire, but now a road 
 passes between the castle and the river. At the time 
 
ABBEY OF FONTEVRAUD 
 
 EFFIGIES OF THE ANGEVIN KINGS HENRY II, RICHARD I, AND QUEEN 
 ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE AND ISABELLE OF ANGOULEME 
 
Sanmur 91 
 
 of the Revolution this old structure fell somewhat into 
 decay; not many years ago it was occupied as a tene- 
 ment by labourers' families, but it has been restored by 
 its present owners. 
 
 The tramway passes near another dainty and well- 
 preserved little chateau at Dampierre, which has sad 
 historic interest. It belonged formerly to Francois 
 Vignolles, a Chancellor of King Rene, who put it at the 
 disposal of the unhappy Margaret of Anjou, wife of 
 Henry VI. of England. There she passed the last 
 miserable years of her existence, after she finally re- 
 turned from her captivity in England to die of grief 
 and disappointment in the land of her father, King 
 Rene. The statue of this sad mother and unhappy 
 queen, with one arm thrown about her unfortunate little 
 son, who perished so cruelly on the field of Tewkesbury, 
 adorns the entrance hall of this chateau. 
 
 Between Montsoreau and Saumur the highway is but 
 a long street, the tree-girt Loire on one side, while on 
 the other village after village join each other in an 
 uninspiring succession of utterly commonplace, white- 
 washed houses, with plastered walls decorated by huge 
 posters, inviting the thirsty, in yellow, red and green 
 colours, to drink Cusenier's liqueurs and recommending 
 the hungry, in bright blue and white, to eat only 
 Chocolat Menier. 
 
 Behind this long, ugly succession of village streets 
 rises a picturesque cliff, wherein, dug out of the soft 
 freestone, are dwellings of all sizes and kinds. Some 
 are simply caves, innocent of windows or doors, their 
 entrances ^protected with the drapery of heavy green, 
 
92 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 hung there by that most perfect of gardeners — free, 
 wild nature. Others pretend to be villas of one or two 
 stories in height, and have shallow fronts of brick, with 
 curtained windows and terraced entrances clinging to 
 the rock, in which are concealed the cave-like chambers 
 of these houses. Angela's imagination pictured the 
 whole facade of one of these sham dwellings coming off 
 at a strong pull, like a doll's house which had once been 
 her pride and delight, and ruthlessly revealing the 
 private lives of such households, just as she was wont 
 to display the secrecy of her dollies to her admiring 
 friends. The most picturesque among these cave dwell- 
 ings have window frames elaborately carved from the 
 solid rock in which they are built, in the style of the 
 Renaissance, and lofty flights of steps lead up to im- 
 posing doorways. The cave-dwellers in many cases had 
 used such a rich fancy in embellishing their strange 
 habitations that Angela gazed upon them with envious 
 wonder. 
 
 She fancied how little the residents of such unconven- 
 ient domiciles could ever be at a loss for room ; the wife, 
 for instance, need only say to her husband : " Mother 
 is coming to stay awhile next week ; please dig her out 
 a good-sized bedroom," or " The children seem to be 
 growing up ; can't you enlarge the kitchen ? " For ex- 
 tensions no lease need be signed, no furniture damaged 
 by moving. A pickaxe will build all the new chambers 
 necessary, and the house can be enlarged indefinitely. 
 Fortunately, light and air are not always counted nec- 
 essary by the people of this land. 
 
 Descending from the tramcar near the entrance to 
 
Saumur 93 
 
 Saumur, Angela walked to a villa called "La Jague- 
 neau," which was the retreat of Madame de Montespan 
 after she left the court and had had that famous 
 quarrel with her royal lover, Louis XIV., which was 
 her last. The gossips of the seventeenth century report 
 this wordy storm to have ended in the following fash- 
 ion : " I have endured your infernal temper, Madame, 
 for thirty years ! " Which brought forth from her the 
 furious and intolerably insolent reply : " Et moi! votre 
 odeur! " 
 
 With her sister secure in the title of Abbess of Fonte- 
 vraud and an indulgent confessor, Pere de la Tour, near, 
 who was willing to assure her of pardon for the sins 
 considered peccadilloes at that epoch, La Montespan 
 led as contented an existence in Saumur as her disap- 
 pointed ambition would allow. 
 
 She built the dome rising above the church of Notre 
 Dame d'Ardilliers to conciliate Heaven and to please 
 her religious director. 
 
 This church possesses one of those innumerable mi- 
 raculous statues of the Virgin with which early French 
 territory was apparently thickly sown by heavenly 
 sculptors. 
 
 Louis XIV. commemorated the share he took in the 
 religious fanaticism and financial ruin of Saumur, when 
 the citizens, forced in Calvinism by the exactions of the 
 Abbeys of Fontevraud and of St. Florent, were driven 
 from their homes to other lands by his persecuting 
 officers, by placing the following inscription on the 
 frieze below the dome which Madame de Montespan, his 
 mistress, built : 
 
94 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 u Louis XIV., by the grace of God King of France 
 and 1 Navarre, drove from his kingdom all heretics and 
 pursued all schismatics by land and by water." 
 
 His Revocation of the Edict of Nantes dealt a blow 
 to the trade and energies of Saumur from which it has 
 never recovered«to this day. 
 
 At the present time, in the houses vacated by those 
 unfortunate Huguenots who took their ability and 
 their riches at this period over the seas, hundreds of 
 workmen are now engaged making millions of chap- 
 lets, those beads on which the pious Catholics through- 
 out the world count their prayers. Saumur has 
 practically the monopoly of this industry, and every 
 year barrels full of rosaries are sent off from here to 
 be blessed by the Pope — one of the sceptical manufac- 
 turers told Angela, " probably without ever being 
 removed from the barrel." 
 
 " What difference would that make so long as they 
 are blessed? " she asked innocently. 
 
 If Saumur afforded a residence to the wholly un- 
 scrupulous mistress of the King, it likewise had the 
 honour of sheltering within its walls one of those devoted 
 benefactors of mankind who prove to the world how 
 much power for good there is in the simple endeavour 
 of a single earnest individual who gives her life to a 
 cause. Within sight of the Montespan villa, almost 
 under the shadow of the famous dome, and at the very 
 epoch when that costly ornament was being added to 
 crown the church, there lived in one of the old houses 
 still standing Jeanne de la None, a poor girl whose ten- 
 der, compassionate soul was deeply touched by the 
 
Saumur 95 
 
 wretched condition of the indigent poor she saw in her 
 native city. In her own humble abode of only a few 
 rooms she founded an asylum for sick and distressed 
 paupers. Then by entreaties and prayers she finally 
 begged enough money to establish a small hospital 
 in which one hundred beds were placed, carved out like 
 the cave dwellings from the rock. From these meagre 
 beginnings she became the founder of the present great 
 hospital of Saumur, La Providence, whose garden al- 
 most touches La Jugeneau, where the fallen favourite 
 of Louis XIV. abode. 
 
 The evening sun touched with gold the slender pin- 
 nacles crowning the house where Jeanne de la Noue 
 founded her great charity as Angela strolled back 
 along the quay and looked up at the towers of the 
 great castle reared high above that quaint, mouldering 
 house. The colours of the big fortress changed from 
 yellow to pink in the glowing twilight, and the wind- 
 mills farther along the bank took on all the hues of 
 the varying sky. The washerwomen, who seem never 
 in France to cease their pounding and wringing on 
 . the river banks, were still noiselessly chattering at their 
 work. In the square fronting the Hotel de Ville, which 
 was once a king's abode, noisy boys and their dogs 
 raced together at play. Angela, nearing the hotel, 
 leaned her elbows on the wall of the quay, hoping to 
 see the usual long line of placid, unsuccessful fisher- 
 men patiently watching their rods by the bank of the 
 river. 
 
 What is France without fishermen! But she saw 
 nothing but a full roaring river. Not a rod in sight! 
 
96 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 What change had magic worked in the nation which, 
 like Simple Simon, would cheerfully go fishing in a pail? 
 She turned away puzzled, to enter the hotel. Wald- 
 man, the dachshund, came bounding out to meet her, 
 wriggling his long body and waving his tail in welcome, 
 as should a proper hotel dog. Guessing him to be a 
 frequenter of the water's edge, she gravely asked him 
 the reason for the lack of fishermen. The only answer 
 he could give was a quick wag. But his mistress heard 
 the question. 
 
 "Ah! It is very annoying!" she exclaimed, shrug- 
 ging her shoulders. " But que voulez vous, fishing is 
 not permitted at this season ; the game law, you know. 
 And, voila, that they are insolent, those fish! I see 
 the impertinent ones leaping gaily every day in the 
 water ! Pas rnoyen! " At which Waldman barked loud, 
 like a true sportsman, and got patted on the head by 
 the sympathetic mistress of the Hotel Budan. 
 
 Angela then understood the mystery of the fisher- 
 man and his frogs she had met at the Ponts de Ce. 
 
 After a leisurely dinner she drew her writing table 
 up before the blazing fire, pulled down the bulb of the 
 electric light until it hung at a convenient angle, spread 
 her writing pad out ready for use, hesitated a few 
 moments whether she should use a stylographic pen or 
 a well-sharpened pencil, thought another moment be- 
 fore beginning her long-wished-for book, and then 
 wrote the trite sentence : 
 
 " It was spring when I left Paris for a tour " 
 
 The leaving of Paris drew her mind off in another 
 
Saumur 97 
 
 direction. She hastily left her writing, and, opening 
 her small trunk, took out the tray and dived down to 
 the very bottom to see if her sister had neglected to 
 put in a lace blouse Angela considered became her won- , 
 derfully well. She had forgotten its very existence 
 until that day at Fontevraud. " I don't know why I 
 wore that hideous grey gown this afternoon ! I think I 
 look like a fright in it. Why did Georgina advise me 
 to wear it out and get rid of it while I was travelling? 
 I am always so silly when I obey. I'll never put the 
 horrid thing on again." 
 
 Although the lace bodice was not forthcoming, she 
 found a very pretty light foulard frock ; but alas ! noth- 
 ing to take the place of the despised, unbecoming grey 
 suit. 
 
 Angela Victoria shook out the skirt of the gown 
 which she removed from her trunk, determined to put it 
 on the next day. 
 
 " It is everyone's duty to look as well as possible," 
 she remarked, coming upon a sudden resolve. " Offi- 
 cials and hotelkeepers have much more respect for a 
 woman if she is well dressed." She looked her frock 
 over and discovered that one or two of the hooks needed 
 fastening and a few stitches had broken away in the 
 sleeve, and so, after carefully putting her manuscript 
 aside for the present, she sewed industriously until she 
 became too sleepy to work any longer. 
 
 She had a cheerful, confident, expectant feeling about 
 the morrow, as though something very pleasant were 
 going to happen to her. Before she climbed into her 
 high bed she opened the window and saw the moon 
 
98 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 sailing clear in a sky dotted here and there with little 
 clouds no bigger than lambs in a meadow. A silver 
 sheen was cast by its light on the rippling river and 
 touched the top of the jagged ruins of the " Maison de 
 la Reine de Sicile," standing in squalid streets on the 
 island almost opposite the hotel. Here King Rene 
 and his wife lived when they came to Saumur, among 
 the fishermen and labourers who had formed a little re- 
 public on the He d'Or. This industrious and extraor- 
 dinary colony chose their own judges, made their own 
 laws and elected a chief, whom they called king. The 
 first king was a royal archer of the guard in the time 
 of Charles VII. ; and an old sailor in the days of Louis 
 XVI. bore the proud title of " Roi de la Republique de 
 l'He d'Or." 
 
 The moonlight had been so promising that she awak- 
 ened at six o'clock, expecting sunshine ; but the promises 
 of neither sunset nor moonrise were fulfilled. Instead, 
 her eyes were greeted by a dull procession of dripping, 
 rubber-coated cavalrymen riding over the bridge. It 
 was not mildly raining, the water was coming down in 
 torrents, so she concluded that this was no weather for 
 trudging through the steep, incoherent streets of hilly 
 Saumur. She hated to leave without having found to 
 her satisfaction the house which Balzac fixed upon as 
 the home of Eugenie Grandet, in his powerful but sor- 
 did novel; but there was no chance for exploration 
 under these moist circumstances. She bade farewell to 
 her hosts and their amiable doggie and set off for 
 Poitiers by a very early train. 
 
SAUMUR 
 
 MAISON DE LA REINE DE SICILE 
 
 ROCK HABITATIONS AND A WANDEREr's VAN 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF MONTRIEUL-BELLAY 
 
Saumur 99 
 
 Leaving Saumur, she saw the same wet fields and 
 hooded peasants she had seen coming from Angers ; the 
 bright genet was the only sunshine visible on ruined 
 walls or among rough stones, but it stood as erect and 
 glowing in the rain as under a clear sky. She polished 
 the window and looked out, fondly hoping to see a 
 glimpse of blue. Strange to say, although Geor- 
 gina's dismal predictions seemed determined to come 
 true, they were unheeded by her sanguine sister. An- 
 gela was a living denial that supreme trust in the effect 
 of mind over matter is as efficient as some philosophers 
 would have us believe; disappointment did not convince 
 her of her error ; she went on blindly expectant that the 
 sun would shine to please her, and the most threatening 
 signs of nature were powerless to discourage her. 
 
 At Montrieul-Bellay she ruined two handkerchiefs 
 and a chiffon veil no longer new, scrubbing the mist 
 from the window panes that she might see that pic- 
 turesque town and its fine chateau while passing in the 
 train. The cars stopped several minutes, but as the 
 glass of the window refused to keep clear for more 
 than one second, she let it down, and braving the pelting 
 shower, leaned out. She saw no castle, she saw no 
 town, but she did see a broad, masculine pair of shoul- 
 ders disappearing into another carriage, following a 
 pair of long legs. 
 
 " Cceur de Lion ! " she muttered, falling back in her 
 seat. Why did he not choose the compartment she was 
 in! It would have been so much nicer to have a com- 
 panion. She beguiled the time with trying to imagine 
 
100 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 who he was, where he had eome from and whither he 
 was going. As there was no one to answer her but 
 herself, she settled the question and drew conclusions 
 which were eminently satisfactory to Angela Victoria. 
 Meantime the train, running southward, had left the 
 storm behind, and she found the sun shining in Poitiers. 
 
<$? 9j? 
 
 Chapter IV 
 
 POITIEKS 
 
 A HE station at Poitiers was a confused jam of push- 
 ing people. Angela, not at all using any caution, 
 but by sheer good luck, managed to get hold of a 
 porter who was making his way through the throng. 
 She nearly lost her ticket in the rush at the sortie, 
 but was finally extricated from her dilemma by the man 
 who had her luggage in charge, and helped into the 
 hotel omnibus. When she was comfortably seated there 
 she discovered to her confusion that she had no small 
 change to give him, and was therefore obliged to borrow 
 from the astonished 'bus driver. 
 
 By this time her trunk had been stored away on 
 top of the vehicle, and the excitement caused by the 
 arrival of the train having subsided around the station, 
 she looked about, but the manly form her eyes sought 
 was nowhere in sight. Everyone had left the place 
 but a few fat, complacent-looking men, who lounged 
 about talking eagerly and gesticulating violently. 
 
 Then Angela Victoria thought to herself : " He was 
 probably going on somewhere else," and sighed deeply, 
 " but I should have liked to see him again ; he was very 
 companionable ! " With this she resigned herself to her 
 fate, which was to be pulled up a long, steep hill, that, 
 
 101 
 
102 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 although inclined to ascend into the clouds, had changed 
 its mind and ended at the hotel door. 
 
 Again she sighed as a somewhat slipshod valet led 
 her through the halls, sliding along in his heelless felt 
 slippers, and showed her into a small room, lacking the 
 homelike charm *of her chamber at the Hotel Budan, but 
 clean and passably comfortable. 
 
 Angela, who was usually so cheerfully excited and 
 interested in new surroundings, for some unknown rea- 
 son was not to-day in her habitual state of mind. It 
 seemed to her that the servant's countenance lacked the 
 sweet, smiling serenity of the Jeans she had encountered 
 in the other hostelries. She was unaccountably im- 
 pressed with the idea that he would neither be as willing 
 nor as competent as Jean of the Budan to fasten that 
 last troublesome hook which modern dressmakers, with 
 fiendish disregard for the temper and nerves of their 
 customers, always put in the most inaccessible spot be- 
 tween a woman's shoulders. The servant's countenance 
 belied him. His attention and willing service drew sev- 
 eral well-earned francs from Angela's purse before she 
 left Poitiers. 
 
 Angela was idealistic and sentimental, but Angela 
 was also healthy, and her disappointments of the morn- 
 ing were not sufficient to interfere with a wholesome 
 appetite, which craved an immediate dejeuner. That 
 meal was announced by the valet a few minutes after 
 she had been installed in her apartment, and she tripped 
 down the broad stairs and entered the dining-room as 
 the first course was being brought on. While enjoying 
 her welcome meal her eyes wandered by the ceiling, 
 
Poitiers 103 
 
 whereon the artist had allowed his remarkable talent to 
 roam between realism and idealism; on a background of 
 beautiful blue sky, sprinkled judiciously with firm, deter- 
 mined white clouds, he had fastened still firmer stucco 
 swallows, coloured with such truth to nature that it is 
 safe to conclude he intended to persuade the public that 
 they were real, airy, light-winged swifts who had been 
 enticed to fly into the dining-room by the realistic blue 
 sky he had painted. His skill not being equal to his 
 purpose, the effect produced was that of huge blue- 
 bottle flies hopelessly captured by sticky fly-paper. 
 
 Poitiers is a town so securely fastened on the sides of 
 a steep hill that it cannot go sliding down into the 
 small river which protects the base of the city from 
 those enemies wont to assault it in its history as a 
 walled town. After a very stormy and exciting youth 
 the place has sunk into the well-earned sleep of mid- 
 dle age. Hidden securely behind high walls in grim, 
 silent streets, the householders of the twentieth century 
 appear to the casual observer as thoroughly prepared 
 to be roughly aroused at any time from their peaceful 
 slumbers as were the citizens in those days when the 
 English swarmed into the town. The uppermost point 
 of the city is crowned by the palace of the former 
 counts of Poitou. This is now used for the law courts. 
 Angela entered by a long, immensely broad flight of 
 steps and stood in a great hall of splendid proportions. 
 She sat down on the stone bench encircling the wall 
 and thought of the days when Joan of Arc was re- 
 ceived here by her sovereign, Charles VII. The hall is 
 ornamented in noble style, but it must always have been 
 
104 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 bleak and cold, even when huge logs sent up roaring 
 flames in the three immense yawning fireplaces on the 
 raised dais. Royalty who stood on the platform near 
 these chimney pieces undoubtedly slowly roasted from 
 the heat at their backs, while the courtiers below stood 
 shivering with the'cold. Angela Victoria wondered why 
 she always allowed suggestions of personal discomfort 
 to interfere with her romantic visions of striking 
 pageants when she got into one of these cheerless old 
 stone halls? 
 
 " I must not let myself do that kind of thing when 
 I write my book," she said to herself. " It may have 
 been summer when Joan of Arc came here." But 
 with the best endeavours in the world she shivered 
 at her own sensations that dark morning and hurried 
 out into the sunshine. The interesting old palace, 
 which adjoins this great hall, is in the process of a 
 much-needed restoration. Some vandals of the last 
 century thought it advisable to put a heavy tiled roof 
 on one of the most beautiful and highly decorated 
 towers, and in order to make this covering fit decapi- 
 tated the heads of the statues of the counts of Poitou, 
 with which the top was adorned. These noblemen are 
 now getting their heads back. They are to be new 
 ones, but quite in the old style. 
 
 Like children around a parent, the old houses clus- 
 ter close to the palace in the narrow, tortuous streets 
 leading to the Church of Notre Dame la Grande, where 
 the white-capped market women spread their tempting 
 array of fruit and vegetables in the open-square front- 
 ing the richest Romanesque facade in existence, so 
 
Poitiers 105 
 
 laden with statues representing the biblical history of 
 man as to be a puzzling study for the passing tourists. 
 The Virgin Mary, one of the chief figures in this decora- 
 tion, is represented wearing the pointed shoes of that 
 period, made fashionable by one of the many Counts 
 of Anjou, Fulk the Quarreller, that he might hide a 
 defect in his feet. 
 
 This church was consecrated by a bevy of saints; 
 the author of the Te Dewm, St. Hilaire, was the offi- 
 ciating bishop, and St. Martin, St. Juste, and St. Nich- 
 olas came to assist him. 
 
 St. Hilaire has a church of his own in Poiters, which 
 is justly proud of this father, of whom, says the old 
 chronicle : " People came from the ends of the earth 
 that they might hear him preach." 
 
 Poitiers was by far the most puzzling of the cities 
 Angela Victoria had yet visited. Her dexterity in going 
 astray fairly outdid itself in this town. " If all roads 
 lead to Rome, then all streets in Poitiers surely lead to 
 the cathedral," she said, after having come back to it 
 three times, although she took her start toward a dif- 
 ferent point of the compass. Each time she stumbled 
 upon it she could not resist entering to dream away a 
 few minutes in the noble interior. The effect of a great 
 temple is accentuated by the absence of naves. It must 
 have been a superbly dignified and fitting background 
 for the many pageants which took place during the 
 Angevin rule. Under its echoing vault Joan of Arc un- 
 rolled the oriflamme in the presence of her doubting 
 king and the sneering courtiers. 
 
 The erection of this great Gothic cathedral was 
 
106 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 begun by Henry II. and Eleanor of Aquitaine, his wife, 
 who was hereditary Countess of Poitou. The main 
 portions were finished before that English monarch died 
 in 1189, but the consecration did not take place until 
 nearly two centuries later. The towers then were in 
 their present unfinished condition, except one, to which 
 a part was added in the fifteenth century. They are 
 rude, stately monuments, and the grey dulness of their 
 bearings is lightened by an aspiring tuft of the golden 
 plant of Anjou, which sprouts gaily from the foothold 
 it has gained for itself so high above the earth. 
 
 Big and barbaric as the times in which they grew old 
 together, the cathedral and the city of Poitiers are re- 
 plete with a feeling of antiquity. There are some mod- 
 ern boulevards, but they are unobtrusive, and it warmed 
 Angela Victoria's heart to be in a part of France which 
 still remains so suggestive of the epoch and the heroes 
 of her dreams. 
 
 Two old crones selling candles outside, where they 
 squatted on the grass-grown steps, and a solitary beggar 
 woman, sitting by the door within the vast cathedral, 
 were the sole representatives of those throngs whose 
 footsteps had once trodden the low-lying parvis. The 
 deserted alley of solemn-looking clipped trees on the 
 Place beside the cathedral added to the archaic charm. 
 
 It is but a few steps from the transept door, 
 over the mossy stones of a lane cut through the 
 buildings huddled close to the church, to the baptis- 
 tery of St. Jean. One of the old candle vendors pointed 
 the way out to Angela Victoria, who never would have 
 found it without that help. Once a pagan tomb, this 
 
Poitiers 107 
 
 queer building is acknowledged to be the oldest exist- 
 ing church in France. The entrance now is sunken low 
 below the pavement of the present city. The guardian, 
 whose venerable age is in keeping with his vocation, was 
 standing at the door anxiously looking up the steps into 
 the street in search of a stray tourist. They were rare 
 birds in this weather and at this season ; therefore, when 
 Angela hesitated a moment at the grille, he came hob- 
 bling up the stairs as quickly as his years would allow 
 and invited her eagerly to descend. 
 
 The old man, enchanted at having captured a visitor, 
 insisted on showing Angela every scrap of the nearly 
 defaced frescoes and every broken stone which has been 
 placed by the archaeologists in this ancient fane. Geor- 
 gina would have thought it a wonderfully interesting 
 sight and have taken down careful notes of all the 
 bits and the old tombs of the Galo-Roman period. She 
 would have pronounced the old man a proper guide, 
 for he had long stories connected with all and each of 
 the stony relics. But Angela took note only of the 
 heavy columns and the wonderful proportions of the old 
 building itself, which seemed to her must many a time 
 have echoed with the clatter of mailed feet and made an 
 admirable background for the high, pointed headdresses 
 and long, clinging robes of the Middle Ages. She 
 stopped the old man's loquacity with a franc piece, 
 and departed, leaving him with the sad expression of 
 a lonely heart upon his withered visage, after he had 
 carefully told her where to find the Church of St. 
 Radegonde, which she next desired to see. 
 
 " N'oubliez pas, Madame," he called out, " to observe 
 
108 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the imprint of the foot of God you will see in that 
 church." 
 
 Angela Victoria might be careless in her appreciation 
 of ancient Christian art, the guide had evidently discov- 
 ered in her that weakness ; but never, never could she be 
 guilty of neglecting a sight which would appeal to her 
 imagination as would this one ! The history of St. Rad- 
 egonde was one of the romances with which she was 
 familiar. This saint was a young German princess 
 whom Clotaire I., the debauched son of Clovis, took pris- 
 oner as a child and educated to be one of his many 
 wives. Filled with horror at her fate, Radegonde man- 
 aged to escape from the royal dwelling and to obtain 
 the protection of St. Germain of Paris; by his influ- 
 ence Clotaire was restrained from pursuing the unfor- 
 tunate maiden and allowed her to become a nun. It 
 was during one of her frequent ecstasies that the Sa- 
 viour appeared to her, and to prove the reality of the 
 vision left the imprint of a large foot on a rock which 
 is now the floor of La Chapelle Pas de Dieu. This 
 oratory is a mere grotto in the wall of the church, 
 wherein, protected by a fine iron grille, are life-sized 
 painted statues, without artistic beauty, commemorating 
 the scene of this miracle. 
 
 Angela looked with reverent interest at a deep, rather 
 formless, hole in the rock, covered with a sort of cage ; 
 she had frequently heard of the heavy hand of God, 
 never before of his foot. On the protecting ends of 
 the arches and on the capitals of the columns surround- 
 ing this chapel, a wealth of grotesque figures look down. 
 Angela's easily distracted mind soon wandered humor- 
 
Poitiers 109 
 
 ously away from the ecstasies of St. Radegonde and the 
 foot of God, to the whimsical grinning dogs and frolick- 
 ing monkeys so amusingly conceived by the old stone 
 masons who erected this church. An abbey was founded 
 by this saint which had one very serio-comic episode in 
 its history. There were two nuns of royal blood who, 
 for reasons best known to themselves, revolted against 
 the abbess, and after having with their followers fought 
 some desperate fights in the streets of Poitiers, ran off 
 to the King of Burgundy. He, anxious for disturbance, 
 not only encouraged them to return, but lent them an 
 army of vagabonds who entrenched themselves in the 
 Church of St. Hilaire. It was only after numerous 
 sanguinary fights in the streets that these troublesome 
 women were forced to submit to religious authority. 
 
 After coming back to the cathedral for the fourth 
 time in one short afternoon, Angela somewhat tardily 
 decided never to start out again without a guidebook. 
 The old candle sellers, on whom she had bestowed a 
 penny each time she came upon them, as a sort of pen- 
 ance for her stupidity, again got their dole, and in 
 return directed her to a tramway which would take her 
 vague person safely back to the haven of the hotel. 
 
 She gazed out of the window of the car interested 
 by the streets awakened at this hour to life by the 
 labourers on their way to their homes, when her eyes 
 chanced to perceive a well-remembered form standing 
 still, and staring after a small boy who was strug- 
 gling along with a loaf of bread longer than his whole 
 body and which he carried clasped to his breast like a 
 soldier presenting arms on parade. 
 
110 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " I don't see why I didn't walk home. It would 
 have been so much more interesting ! " 
 
 She seriously considered stopping the car, but 
 Poitiers conductors refuse to stop their cars when 
 climbing up mountainous streets. 
 
 Angela.had never done so much consistent sightsee- 
 ing alone. Georgina would hardly have dignified such 
 drifting about in churches by the title of sightseeing, 
 but Angela considered that she had spent a most im- 
 proving and absorbing afternoon. Had she not quite 
 forgotten her cake? Mental exertion usually had a 
 good effect upon her appetite. Well, she was all the 
 more hungry for dinner, and many things contributed 
 to heighten this enjoyment. First, there was very good 
 food, and then she was entertained through the whole 
 meal by the guests at another table. 
 
 Directly beneath the petrified swallows was spread a 
 long table at which sat some men who delighted and 
 enlivened Angela Victoria's solitary meal by their 
 sprightly conversation. They talked about the wine 
 crop and the weather in various parts of France. They 
 all seemed to come from different localities. They 
 eagerly discussed the present exciting political situa- 
 tion, the troubles between Church and State, and inter- 
 larded this serious subject with many amusing anecdotes 
 of their pays and merry comments on the experiences 
 they had endured with railroad officials. By the gen- 
 eral looks of the assembly and from the boxes she had 
 seen in the hall, Angela concluded that these men were 
 plainly commercial travellers, interspersed, perhaps, 
 by a few notaries. But there was no whisper of trade 
 
IN POITIERS 
 
 AS IN THE MIDDLE AGES A FORTIFIED DOORWAY 
 
 ON THE WAY TO THE CATHEDRAL A PATIENT POITEV1N 
 
Poitiers 111 
 
 or money in the entire conversation. They were enj oy- 
 ing a good dinner as only Frenchmen can, and although 
 strangers, beguiling one another by that entertaining 
 talk which gives their nation the right to its conver- 
 sational reputation. 
 
 That evening, sitting before a diminutive wood fire, 
 Angela wrote an enthusiastic letter to Georgina about 
 the charms of travel at a season when tourists stay at 
 home. She forgot to mention the rain, Coeur de Lion, 
 or her own mistakes, but she mildly reproached her sister 
 for sending her off without even one dainty pair of shoes 
 and with forgetting to pack into her trunk a newly pur- 
 chased and especially becoming gown. 
 
 " What could she do with patent leathers and a light 
 blue cloth suit in railway trains and provincial hotels! 
 How like Angela Victoria ! " was Georgina's comment 
 when she read this letter. 
 
 As she wrote there floated up from the street of the 
 town the sound of men's voices singing in unison ; now 
 dying away and now growing stronger as it approached 
 and retreated through the winding ways. 
 
 Fais le beau, Ah, 
 Fais le beau, Ah, 
 Fais le beau, 
 Ah, Ah. 
 
 Fais le beau, Ah, 
 Fais le beau, Ah, 
 Fais le beau, 
 Ah, Ah. 
 
 Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah. 
 
 At least this is how the words sounded to her ears as 
 they floated up through the closed window. The tune 
 
112 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 was quaint and very French in character. She after- 
 ward discovered that it was an old Poitevin rustic song. 
 Something in its quick gaiety excited her fancy and 
 her imagination to picture a line of gay, dancing young 
 men reviving the traditions of ancient Poitou by roam- 
 ing through the narrow streets, laughing and singing 
 as they went, in honour of the May, with their arms 
 balanced on one another's shoulders like some of the 
 pictures she had seen painted by great French artists. 
 They really sang very well. Was she not in the coun- 
 try of poetry and song! Did not the ancient Counts 
 of Poitou hold court in the palace near by to honour 
 the visit of troubadours? These princes wrote poetry 
 themselves, much of which has survived. Even Eleanor 
 of Aquitaine dabbled in song, and certainly her son 
 Richard played merrily with the Muses when he was 
 not cracking people's heads. 
 
 Alas for the romance of the swelling and falling lay 
 which Angela heard going on until late in the night! 
 She asked the valet about it when he appeared with her 
 coffee the next morning. Over his saturnine face flitted 
 the shadow of a smile. 
 
 " It was the hired singers for the elections. They 
 were chanting the name of the candidate." 
 
 " It was a very charming song," she remarked, un- 
 willing to give up her fancy. 
 
 " He won't be elected," declared the man, contemptu- 
 ously. " He's not a Liberal." Then he changed the sub- 
 ject abruptly, and though she had asked nothing about 
 the weather, at once volunteered the remark: 
 
 " C'est bien convert — the sky is cloudy, but that does 
 
Poitiers 113 
 
 not always mean rain." He opened the window to look 
 out. The wind came in damp and cold. Angela shud- 
 dered. With a cloak over her thick dressing gown, and 
 a rug tucked around her knees, she drank her coffee as 
 hot as possible, and marvelled at the birds in the garden 
 opposite, who had the courage to give her such a deli- 
 cious morning concert, and wondered how the flowers 
 she saw over the wall could send out so much fragrance 
 in such cold air. 
 
 When later she went out into the market place sur- 
 rounding Notre Dame la Grande the peasant women 
 were sitting in their market stalls as oblivious of the 
 chill in the air as were the posies they sold. Ruddy- 
 cheeked women in snowy caps and blue aprons, with 
 their picturesque flat baskets piled high with the fresh 
 green salads of all kinds and hues they had for sale, 
 added a variety to the uniform tint by carefully selected 
 bunches of bright crimson radishes laid in among the 
 heads of lettuce, and the peasant women selling bags of 
 dull potatoes tried to make their wares more enticing 
 by brilliant yellow flowers laid on top of the little brown 
 heaps. Pretty country girls stood behind trays of 
 dainty cakes, which bore no kindred to the tooth-destroy- 
 ing sweets sold in market places throughout England. 
 There were booths with every conceivable convenience 
 for housekeeping and personal adornment for men and 
 women, from shoes and hats to pots and pans. The 
 pious were not forgotten ; on the railing about the 
 church were hung rosaries and votive candles for those 
 who wished to count their beads or make a vow. 
 
 Every merchant was advocating with loud cries the 
 
114 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 superiority of his wares, but above all the din and 
 clatter rose the stentorian voice of a ribbon seller 
 calling : 
 
 " Un sou le metre! N'oubliez pas Voccasion! " 
 " Un sou le metre!! Mesdames! Mesdemoiselles! 
 One ha'penny, a yard." This peddler had thrown a 
 motley mountain of many-hued ribbons recklessly and 
 ruthlessly on the dusty pavement. They were growing 
 rapidly less at his price of " Un sou le metre." 
 
 Angela wondered where the bargains could lay 
 in buying ribbons heaped up on the stones in such con- 
 fusion that they had to be untangled before they could 
 be measured. The pedlar continued to stir them up 
 like soup, with his yardstick, interrupting his cry of 
 " Voila Voccasion! " to do a rushing business among the 
 peasant girls who, with their uncovered heads, carefully 
 and elaborately dressed by skilled coiffeurs, wandered 
 about arm in arm enjoying themselves with merry 
 chatter. 
 
 A young French woman, no matter what may be her 
 station in life, rarely neglects to have her hair fashion- 
 ably arranged, and there are barbers who do it for the 
 girls of the people in the most approved manner, and 
 charge very trifling sums. 
 
 A covered market near the Place de Notre Dame, 
 where all these hawkers are gathered, can be reached 
 through silent streets, or by treading a busy little 
 thoroughfare which connects it with the open market- 
 place. Here the housekeepers swarm, buying fish, eggs, 
 cheese, poultry, and meats of all kinds, made attrac- 
 tive as raw food possibly can be by tastefully ar- 
 
Poitiers 115 
 
 ranged fresh green leaves and bunches of lilacs laid 
 among the wares to compel attention and attract custom. 
 
 Angela had been on her way to find the church of St. 
 Hilaire, when she came upon the marketplace. This is 
 one of the most interesting old churches in France. 
 The guidebook says that it was built in the tenth and 
 eleventh centuries, and within its walls Richard Cceur 
 de Lion was crowned Count of Poitou. Angela reached 
 by devious ways the quiet nook where, midst spreading 
 trees, this ancient sanctuary reposes, still dreaming of 
 the Middle Ages. But the streets were so full of people 
 anxious and courteously willing to direct her that she 
 had no trouble in finding her destination, and managed 
 to get there this time without doubling the cathedral. 
 She went by the Rue Carnot, where there are many deli- 
 cious antiquity shops which enticed her into plunging 
 into expensive delights. She condoned her extravagant 
 purchases by the excuse that she was buying presents 
 for Georgina, and by the fact that the shopkeepers 
 gave her much entertaining information which she might 
 possibly use in her book. Not one word she gathered 
 from this source was worth a penny, and she squandered 
 many francs on mock antiques. 
 
 Both within and without, St. Hilaire is a church likely 
 to awaken the enthusiasm of tourists disposed like 
 Angela to romantic souvenirs. She had gone into 
 Notre Dame la Grande by one door and came out by 
 another as quickly as possible, sorry that she had en- 
 tered at all, but here she could have wiled away with 
 delight many more hours than she had to spare. The 
 choir and the chapels in the transept are raised above 
 
116 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the nave by a long flight of broad steps, and against 
 the rough old stone walls and dull grey tint of the pillars 
 the splendour of the gorgeous robes and mantles, the 
 glitter of the armour and plumes, and the brightness 
 of the banners brought by the nobles to witness Rich- 
 ard's crowning, all arose at her bidding to glorify the 
 old fane. 
 
 The exterior of this church, although it has been 
 somewhat restored, has an air of ancient splendour and 
 quaint, rugged beauty which entrances anyone who, 
 like Angela, lived during her travels in the age of 
 chivalry and romance. St. Hilaire formerly stood not 
 far from the heavy defensive walls of the city ; so near, 
 in fact, that the coronation procession must have been 
 witnessed from towers which are now not far from 
 the railroad track. A bit of these old-time fortifica- 
 tions has been still preserved and surrounds the charm- 
 ing little Pare de Blossac, which is the promenade of the 
 Poitevins. 
 
 Angela, who had small faith in her own ability to find 
 the remains of these bastions, in spite of the map which 
 she was carrying about, hailed a despondent-looking cab- 
 man whom she saw driving slowly past. The cocker 
 regained his vivacity at once, when he found he had 
 captured a fare, and Angela was soon deep in conver- 
 sation with the loquacious man, who openly rejoiced at 
 having a tourist to drive about, and plenty of time on 
 his hands to conduct her wherever she should choose to 
 go. " Shall I not take Madame to Notre Dames des 
 Dunes ? She can see the whole city from the terrace in 
 front of the statue there." 
 
Poitiers 117 
 
 Madame was satisfied to put herself in his care ; so 
 he drove her along beside the river, which forms islands 
 covered with foliage as its waters unite and part capri- 
 ciously. They went over the Pont Neuf and up the 
 steep road to the terrace where stands erected an enor- 
 mous gilt image of the Virgin Mary, overlooking and 
 protecting the city on the opposite hill. 
 
 The man descended from his box and, helping Angela 
 out of the low fiacre, left his horse to enjoy a nap while 
 he, with an enthusiasm as marked as if he never before 
 had seen Poitiers, but had only heard about it, first 
 spread out both arms as though to lay the city at her 
 feet, and then crossing them proudly on his breast, threw 
 back his head and declaimed: " C'est beau ca, Madame! 
 C'est beau! " 
 
 The dramatic manner ennobled the platitude, and 
 Angela, quite as excited by the sight as the driver, 
 replied: "Indeed it is! Very beautiful ! " 
 
 " And so old, Madame ! So old ! " 
 
 " I have not seen any city that impressed me 
 more." 
 
 " Ah, Madame ! That is right ! You have raison. 
 There is no city with more old churches. Madame has 
 seen them all? C'est quel que chose a voir." 
 
 A warm ray of golden sunlight shot out from behind 
 one of the heavy clouds on the dusty old town whose 
 very name re-echoes the din of battle. The green, 
 sleepy river below them, stealing away around the 
 islands formed by its own uncertain, lazy, wandering 
 character, began to sparkle as it flowed; the time-worn 
 grey churches showed splashes of dim purple, red and 
 
118 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 green on the antique tiled roofs; the low clipped lime 
 trees looked greener in the sunlight, while the irregular 
 towers and gables piled one above another on the hill- 
 side showed a mass of bright light and heavy shadows. 
 Poitiers from this point looked like a forgotten relic of 
 the mediaeval ages. The coachman still stood beside 
 Angela, looking with interest and delight at every ex- 
 pression of pleasure which flitted across her expressive 
 countenance. From time to time he would mutter his 
 refrain : " Hem! C'est beau, fa! Et vieux! " She 
 re-entered the carriage ; the horse woke up from his 
 gentle sleep, and the man drove slowly down the hill over 
 the Pont Joubert, which has replaced one of the old 
 drawbridges of the town. Angela's mind wandered 
 back a few centuries to the days of the Black Prince, 
 when the renowned battle was fought in 1355, and the 
 French, who had been put to flight by less than half 
 their number of English, found the gate in the wall to 
 which this bridge led closed upon them by the panic- 
 stricken garrison. They perished by thousands like 
 sheep at the hands of their savage English pursuers. 
 A more agreeable picture for the Anglo-Saxon to con- 
 template is that of the victor in this great fight, the 
 son of Edward III., refusing humbly to sit at the 
 table with the King of France, whom he had captured, 
 but serving that monarch at supper with his own princely 
 hands. Over this bridge Henry II. may have come rid- 
 ing in haste to capture his rich bride, the heiress of 
 Aquitaine, who was being harassed by other suitors. 
 Undoubtedly the gates of the old city frequently opened 
 here to admit the bands of troubadours riding gaily 
 
: &L 
 
Poitiers 119 
 
 attired to the courts of the poetic Counts of Poitou. 
 How often the draw must have been let down for pil- 
 grims with their staves coming from the long journey 
 to the Holy Land to lay their tributes at the feet of 
 St. Hilaire and St. Radegonde, on the altars in the 
 shrines of these saints. Perhaps Richard Cceur de 
 Lion clattered in armour down the very hill they had 
 just descended and rode in his usual bold way to demand 
 admittance at the gateway from which this bridge fell 
 over the river. 
 
 They turned along toward the other end of the town 
 to find the church of the former great Abbey of Mon- 
 tierneuf , which the coachman pretended to be very much 
 astonished she had not yet seen. The way there led 
 along the boulevard, simple pleasant ways, shaded with 
 trees. 
 
 The coachman called her attention to them. " These 
 are the boulevards, Madame. Pas grande chose, but 
 
 very pretty. Not the boulevard of Tours " He 
 
 had travelled, too. " But you shall see them, Madame. 
 They lead us to Montierneuf," and with a beaming, 
 sunny smile: " and they suit Poitiers." 
 
 The old church which they had come to see was dis- 
 covered to have settled down with one side in a barnyard. 
 It formerly belonged to a convent which was founded 
 in the eleventh century, and is an interesting mass of 
 pinnacles, queer roofs, small, flying buttresses, and 
 domed chapels. The entrance, which is through a long 
 court planted with lime trees, is more dignified than the 
 view which Angela got in the first place from the barn- 
 yard side, and the old tomb of the eleventh century, 
 
120 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 of the Duke of Aquitaine, who was its founder, repaid 
 her for coming to see it. 
 
 Angela did not go back to the hotel. She ate her 
 luncheon at a restaurant which the cocher recommended 
 to her attention, and where no petrified swallows threat- 
 ened to fall down upon her head. After the meal was 
 over, the man, who had gone off presumably to eat his 
 own dejeuner, returned with an expression that implied 
 he was in her private service, and took her where he ex- 
 hibited with pride the modern Prefecture built in the 
 style of Louis XIII., and the Hotel de Ville, equally 
 modern and of which he was equally proud, although 
 as a concession to her feelings he remarked with a 
 shrug : 
 
 " Pas views! Mais belle tout de meme! " 
 
 In the streets about the Hotel de Ville he pointed out 
 some interesting remains of buildings left over from the 
 seventeenth century, and he drove her patiently in and 
 out through narrow streets and ancient byways lined 
 with houses which might have been standing there when 
 Joan of Arc came to Poitiers to the court of her landless 
 king. 
 
 " A lady has been asking for you," said the hostess, 
 looking out from her little box-like office, as Angela en- 
 tered the hotel. " She will return." 
 
 Who could know she was in Poitiers ? The lady had 
 left no name. Who did know she was in Poitiers? 
 Angela was consumed with curiosity. She waited nearly 
 an hour in the dingy little drawing-room, tried to amuse 
 herself by reading all the antiquated fashion papers 
 and " Guides to Continental Hotels," with which the 
 
Poitiers 121 
 
 table was Uttered, and grew very impatient before the 
 keenly awaited mysterious visitor made her appearance. 
 She came at last, with her hands extended in greeting, 
 and Angela welcomed an old schoolmate with surprise. 
 
 " Oh ! Susanne ! How did you know I was here ! " 
 she asked amazed. 
 
 " Georgina told me. We met her coming from the 
 Gare St. Lazare. You had just gone. Albert and I 
 were out that morning for an early spin. I have been 
 to all three hotels here to ask for you." 
 
 " Are there three hotels here? " inquired Angela 
 naively. 
 
 " Dearest Angela Victoria ! You certainly are a 
 wonderful traveller ! " laughed her friend, Madame de 
 Sayes. " Will you never change ! If you know noth- 
 ing of the hotels in Poitiers, how did you get to this 
 one? " 
 
 Angela thought a moment. "The name on the 
 omnibus attracted me. Now I think of it, I believe 
 there was no other 'bus at the station. Oh, I think I 
 chose it before that, out of the guidebook. Now tell 
 me, what are you doing in Poitiers ? " 
 
 " I came with my husband. He has some law busi- 
 ness to settle here. Besides, we are on our way to 
 mamma's chateau. I have a niece at school near St. 
 Hilaire. Where are you going from here? " 
 
 " I am thinking of going to-morrow to Argenton." 
 
 " Then why can't you come with us, at least as far 
 as Le Blanc? We have the car with us." 
 
 " I had forgotten that your mother had a country 
 house in this part of the world." 
 
122 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " She never moves from it now-a-days. Paris has no 
 charms for her any longer. She is a faithful Poitevin. 
 Were it not that to-morrow was her birthday, we would 
 take you all the way to Argenton. How is your book 
 getting on ? You see we know all your plans. Georgina 
 was so full of your folly, as she called it, she spread the 
 whole of your interesting itinerary out before us." 
 
 " Georgina thinks I can't take care of myself, which 
 is a little silly at my advanced age." 
 
 " You don't look as if you were having the miserable 
 time she was contemplating: but honestly, aren't you a 
 bit lonely? " 
 
 " Not at all," emphatically declared Angela — then 
 she laughed ; " but I shall be very glad to go with 
 you." 
 
 " We will not come too early, because we are stopping 
 at the house of an aunt who never likes to hurry ; besides, 
 Albert and I expect a gentleman, who is to come from 
 some unknown quarter where he has been visiting, and 
 go with us to take dinner to-night with mamma. We'll 
 be here, I think, by eleven." 
 
 Angela glowed with delight. " I'll be ready at any 
 hour." 
 
 Susanne did not tell Angela that on the Sunday 
 morning she left Paris they met Georgina wandering 
 disconsolately over the Place de la Concorde, and 
 had taken her for a spin out into the country in 
 their automobile. She was very amusing on the subject 
 of the tour to be taken by Angela, whom Georgina 
 fondly loved, in spite of her apparent disapproval of 
 Angela Victoria's general habits. " She wants to write 
 
Poitiers 123 
 
 a book, and I can imagine just the sort of book she will 
 write. She will see everything with magic spectacles 
 and will expect the everyday, fussy, commonplace, stupid 
 people like myself to agree with her." 
 
 Georgina was commonplace and everyday, but she 
 was neither fussy nor stupid, as she declared. Most 
 people found her quite as amusing, although entirely 
 unlike, her younger sister, Angela Victoria. 
 
 Incredible as it may appear, Angela had never taken 
 a tour in a car before but once in her life, because 
 Georgina only enjoyed motoring for short distances. 
 Her keen expectation of the morrow's pleasure was 
 therefore not surprising. She crept out of bed early, 
 and found the weather propitious, but she could not go 
 to sleep again for sheer, delightful anticipation. When 
 the valet brought her coffee, she gave him her orders, 
 and had her luggage sent off to the station, registered 
 for Argenton by the obliging omnibus driver, and long 
 before it was time to start the bulletins were brought 
 back and safely tucked away in her purse. She left her 
 chamber soon after ten o'clock and betook herself to the 
 dimness of the drawing-room, but its melancholy dusti- 
 ness had no power to depress her that morning. She 
 seated herself at the writing table, turned on the electric 
 light to dissipate the gloom, and occupied herself by 
 writing dozens of postal cards. She did everything but 
 make notes for her book. She was in too restless a 
 mood for that. 
 
 Finally her impatient ear caught the whiz and whirr 
 of an approaching machine. She tried to prevent her- 
 self from skipping excitedly down the entrance steps in 
 
124 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 a manner totally unbecoming to her age and dignity, 
 but with all possible effort at restraint she could not 
 help hastening just a trifle. Her feet had nearly 
 reached the bottom step, when she suddenly stopped and 
 drew her breath. Beside Susanne on the back seat of 
 the car sat Cceur de Lion. Angela was allowed no 
 time for speculation. As the automobile stopped, Su- 
 sanne stretched out her hand toward Angela, saying: 
 " Good-morning, cherie ; you are not one to keep us 
 waiting ; " and turning toward the gentleman who had 
 jumped out and was coming round the back of the car, 
 she introduced : " This is my dear friend, Miss Angela 
 Victoria Cheney, Mr. Richard Hardy." 
 
 " We have met before," said that gentleman, smiling. 
 " Miss Cheney was good enough to help me understand 
 the guide at Fontevraud." 
 
 " Understand ! What a fraud you are ! Are you 
 going to pretend that you do not understand the 
 language you tried so hard to learn ? " 
 
 His smile grew broader. " I'm not pretending any- 
 thing. The man there had such a queer accent that 
 for the life of me I couldn't make out what he was 
 saying." 
 
 Susanne shook her head incredulously, and her hus- 
 band, who had disappeared the instant the car stopped, 
 to examine some uncertain part of his machinery, now 
 came forward to greet his guest warmly and say : " So 
 you two are old friends ! I'm glad of that, for I want 
 Miss Angela for myself on this ride, and I might have 
 thought it my polite duty to resign her to an entirely 
 new acquaintance." 
 
Poitiers 125 
 
 He helped her on to the front seat, waited until Mr. 
 Hardy and Susanne had comfortably settled themselves, 
 and then took his own place at the wheel. The whizzing 
 which had been going on violently and the view she got 
 from the front seat, struck secret terror into Angela's 
 ignorant heart. 
 
 " Are we going straight down this horrid mountain? " 
 she asked timidly. The street which, on her arrival in 
 the omnibus, seemed aiming for the clouds, now looked 
 from her place in the car as if it were pitching down 
 into the very bowels of the earth. 
 
 Albert laughed in delighted joy at the prospect of 
 driving such a thoroughly unsophisticated passenger. 
 He gave a turn to the wheel and they glided quietly 
 round the corner into a side street, which the car so 
 obstructed by its bulk that had any unfortunate little 
 donkey been strolling along that way nothing but 
 refuge in one of the deep gateways could have saved 
 it from being crushed against a house. They rode 
 slowly through the almost deserted market-place, pick- 
 ing their way through the narrow thoroughfare without 
 accident. 
 
 " I thought all roads in Poitiers led to the cathedral. 
 Every street I took brought me there, no matter 
 what street it was," said Angela in surprise ; " and 
 here we seem nearly out of town without coming 
 near it." 
 
 Albert laughed merrily. He knew Angela, and he 
 knew his Poitiers. They had slipped down on to the 
 boulevard, past St. Radegonde, and were over the Pont 
 Neuf , and when they > did see the cathedral again they 
 
126 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 looked at it across the valley from the top of the plateau 
 where they had reached the green country full of 
 fragrance and of the breath of spring. 
 
 " The field of the great battle was over there," said 
 Susanne solemnly, touching Angela on the shoulder, 
 who looked around surprised to meet a pair of dancing 
 eyes. " You see, my dear, I have not forgotten your 
 hobby. I am sure you came down here to get into 
 intimate relations with these squabbling old ancients 
 you have adored ever since I knew you. How well I 
 remember at school seeing you pore over that expur- 
 gated History of France the good nuns gave us to 
 study. No one else found any interest or excitement 
 in it but you." 
 
 Angela laughed heartily. " Oh, yes, there was an- 
 other. You forget Claire de Vaudrieul, who used both 
 ingenuity and energy in convincing us that all the 
 French kings from Clovis to Louis XVI. looked ex- 
 actly alike, by cutting out carefully with her knife 
 the true portrait of the former and fitting it into all 
 the other illustrations in the book, to prove that except 
 for the hairdressing there was no difference whatever 
 in the resemblance between all these kings. Her 
 passion for enlightenment got nothing but a severe 
 penance." 
 
 " Say, rather, she got punished for her mischief," 
 laughed Albert. 
 
 "I never learned anything at all at school," said 
 Susanne. 
 
 " Except how to be charming," said her gallant hus- 
 band. 
 
Poitiers 127 
 
 "That's an accomplishment they taught you all," 
 whispered Richard. 
 
 The low words muttered in Susanne's ear escaped 
 Angela, who turned and supplemented Albert's com- 
 pliment by adding : " And how to make yourself be- 
 loved." 
 
 " I think, cherie, you, too, learned a little of that 
 art." 
 
 The blood surged gently into Angela's smiling face, 
 and, as she turned quickly back facing the road, a 
 little expressive pantomime took place on the back 
 seat, which pleased and amused Susanne so much that 
 she made a remark sufficiently equivocal not to disturb 
 the equanimity of those in front if it chanced to reach 
 their ears. 
 
 " It is as I told you, is it not? " To which Richard 
 Hardy replied warmly : " Far ahead of anything you 
 said." 
 
 At this point Angela again turned toward them 
 and joined her praise: "Nothing could be more per- 
 fect," which seemed to cause Susanne great merri- 
 ment. 
 
 The rains of the previous days had freed the roads 
 from dust, and the car began to roll smoothly and 
 swiftly along a beautiful highway on the ridge above 
 the banks of the river. 
 
 As the car sped on, Angela began to experience the 
 delicious excitement of rapid motion. She lost interest 
 in both ancients and moderns. For a time she uttered 
 queer little squeals whenever she saw a dog, a child, 
 or a peasant who seemed likely to get in the way, but, 
 
128 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 as the trees, cottages, and fields went slipping by, 
 quicker and quicker, the fever for flying took posses- 
 sion of her. A broad, straight road, smooth as a floor, 
 fulfilled the driver's idea of the ways of Paradise. 
 Albert was as radiant as Angela, who became jubilant 
 as she watched* the distant objects come rushing up 
 to meet them. He put on full speed whenever he 
 could as they slid down the hill into the little town of 
 St. Julien d'Ars. 
 
 " M on ami, I beg you to drive slower," said Su- 
 sanne. " There is an ancient church and a chateau 
 here we might see, if you would permit us." 
 
 Albert held the car back a little, but the demoralisa- 
 tion of automobiling had taken full possession of An- 
 gela. In the novel charm of that first, short, fast run 
 she had lost all desire to do anything but fly. 
 
 Where was the mooning sister Georgina so deplored? 
 
 " Oh, please don't stop," she begged. 
 
 " Angela ! Angela ! " muttered mischievous Susanne. 
 "And your princes? This is a town of the Middle 
 Ages ! " 
 
 What did Angela Victoria care to see! All she 
 wanted was the broad road again. The twelfth century 
 was very far behind and hopelessly slow. The delicious 
 recklessness induced by speeding in a motor car can 
 drown all other sensations. The sentimental, tender, 
 vague Angela Victoria had become a regular wild 
 woman by this time, perfectly willing to run down 
 peasants or scatter sheep. It is possible that she might 
 have regretted killing a dog or frightening horses, 
 that she could have been sobered if a child was pinned 
 
Poitiers 129 
 
 under the wheels, but she certainly resented any inter- 
 ference which churches, or chateaux, or ancient towns 
 might have with their flight. This was her first swift 
 automobile ride, and it had aroused some new and 
 astonishing emotions which Angela's face was too mo- 
 bile to conceal. Albert de Sayes was enchanted, her 
 companions on the back seat immensely amused. 
 Prom time to time she would turn a glowing counte- 
 nance, which looked very girlish, flushed with excite- 
 ment. Richard Hardy did everything to indulge her 
 weakness by urging the driver, who was only too ready 
 to speed, to renewed exertions. 
 
 " Here's a clear, smooth stretch, Albert, give us a 
 run." 
 
 Trees, fields, bushes, and the wind went scurrying 
 by, while the car seemed to stand still. Georgina would 
 have been shocked if she could have seen her sister. 
 For the first time in her life birds, colour, landscape, 
 all the beautiful things of nature, lost their impor- 
 tance. 
 
 A little donkey standing in a field with its head over 
 the hedge brayed at them. 
 
 " Jealousy ! " exclaimed Susanne. 
 
 " Reproach ! " said Richard Hardy. 
 
 " Oh, no ! He is greeting us," laughed Angela, 
 " You know they always recognise their kind, and 
 to-day I belong to his family, and, what's more, I don't 
 care. I revel in my degradation. I would rather go 
 fast than see anything in the world.'* 
 
 " Such is the fruit of evil companionship," said Su- 
 sanne, pointing her finger at her husband. 
 
130 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " Or a taste of the poetic pleasure of the birds," 
 said Albert, with theatrically sentimental airs and 
 graces. 
 
 " Mon ami! " exclaimed Susanne. " Do you compare 
 your insane speeding with anything so enchanting and 
 graceful as a flying bird? " 
 
 " I do, and so does Miss Angela. N'est pas, Made- 
 moiselle? Some day I shall take you out without 
 Susanne, and show you what sailing through the air 
 really means." 
 
 " Que le bon Diew vous garde! " laughed his wife. 
 
 They were in sight of Chauvigny, with its five ruined 
 castles, and, as they came over the bridge, the sunshine 
 flooded this ancient hill town and its great church with 
 sudden beauty. The River Vienne, flowing down here 
 from Chinon, waters a lovely valley dotted thick with 
 castles, fortresses, and medieval towns. The highway 
 runs around the base of the hill and the steep street 
 leads up to the eleventh-century church. Susanne tried 
 to insist upon stopping, but Albert maintained there - 
 was little to see, except a curious fresco, " and that is 
 of the fifteenth century. Much too modern for our 
 party ! " 
 
 Angela, in her new motor rage, encouraged him, 
 but Susanne's influence carried the day sufficiently to 
 make him take a detour through the hilly old town 
 by the broad curving street before resuming the high- 
 way to Le Blanc. From the first elevation they looked 
 back. The five great strongholds, now jagged ruins, 
 but still imposing, stood out sharp against the sky. 
 They saw the Tour de Flins and the Chateau de Gouzon, 
 
Poitiers 131 
 
 of which but little remain, the Chateau de Montleon 
 and that of d'Harcourt, now converted into a small 
 historic museum, and the baronial castle of Chauvigny, 
 which belonged to the bishops when they were lords of 
 the town. These five feudal castles made Chauvigny, 
 in the olden times, a place of great importance, yet 
 Angela in her modern fury for motoring, which had 
 grown up like a mushroom in a few hours, took more 
 interest in rushing along through a wild, unkempt 
 country where the road alone was good, to considering 
 a stop in this interesting old town. 
 
 The character of the territory they entered after 
 leaving Chauvigny suggested many well-remembered 
 corners of her native land by its rocks and rough aspect. 
 The state of the road alone betokened that they were 
 in France, where " A Touring Club " takes a deep and 
 practical concern in the highways. This road prob- 
 ably existed centuries ago, for it leads from Chauvigny 
 to St. Savin, where there were monks settled as early 
 as the reign of Charlemagne in the rich valley watered 
 by the River Gartempe. During the reign of the 
 great emperor, and under his patronage, a splendid 
 abbey was built up there, which existed until destroyed 
 in the troublous times of the Revolution. 
 
 " At St. Savin you must stop, Albert," said Su- 
 sanne. " I refuse to pass it, and so does Mr. Hardy. 
 I am going to break Angela of her passion for racing 
 by forcing her to enthuse over the delicious old church. 
 There it is now, on the other side of the bridge." 
 
 They were rolling over the old gothic bridge, and in 
 front of them shot up high into the blue sky the 
 
132 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 graceful spire of the church whose foundations were 
 laid in 811. Angela's enthusiasm for speeding had 
 not cooled, still she was glad to rest, for her breath 
 had been growing shorter and shorter as they raced 
 onward in the cutting air. They stopped before the 
 impressive church, where an old sexton came out to meet 
 them. He woufd not allow them to enter until they 
 had admired the spire. 
 
 "La plus haute fleche qu'on connait en France, ex- 
 cept " he added gently, sotto voce, " one at Bor- 
 deaux." 
 
 Bordeaux is so far away that they all gazed up 
 at the spire of St. Savin with wonder, convinced 
 that it was the most extraordinary thing in the 
 world. 
 
 Within the church the restoration has been carried 
 on a trifle too vigorously for real artistic beauty, al- 
 though such an authority concerning antiquity as 
 Viollet le Due is responsible for the work. The frescoes 
 on the pillars cannot consort properly with the ancient 
 paintings on the walls until the softening influence of 
 time has dulled some of the crudeness of the modern 
 painting. The older frescoes were executed in the 
 eleventh century, and are unique in France. The land- 
 scape is absurd and perspective ignored. The figures 
 are stiff, long, and thin, as all Byzantine artists loved 
 them, but the draperies are adjusted with an antique and 
 charming grace. The subject is from the apocalypse, 
 while the crypt is devoted to the legends of St. Savin 
 and St. Cyprien. Surrounding the choir, a circle of 
 pillars with splendidly carved capitals is still standing 
 
Poitiers 133 
 
 where they were placed when the church was built, and 
 in some of the chapels which radiate from the ambula- 
 tory there are several stone altars, bearing curious and 
 interesting inscriptions, which were set up when the 
 sanctuary was consecrated in 811. 
 
 " Would you have missed this for the sake of beat- 
 ing the record?" asked Susanne, putting her arm 
 around her friend. 
 
 Angela looked a trifle shamefaced, her excitement 
 had subsided, and she secretly resolved never to try 
 to combine sightseeing and motoring again, for she 
 knew in the innermost depths of her soul that the slight- 
 est hint from Albert would have made her pass that 
 church had not Susanne forced her to stop. 
 
 Much of the ancient abbey has been destroyed; in 
 the present quarters of the gendarmes a portion of it 
 still survives. The most antique portion of these build- 
 ings, the Abbot's Palace, has been beautifully restored, 
 and is now the property and private dwelling of a dis- 
 tinguished civil engineer. 
 
 Albert looked around at the town of St. Savin and 
 its surroundings with marked approval. 
 
 "Why have you never brought me here before, Su- 
 sanne? The good monks knew when and how to choose 
 their habitations ; they left the steep hills and the 
 rugged rocks and the fighting to the lords they ex- 
 pected to use as protectors, and took the fat land and 
 the feasting with a little prayer thrown in for them- 
 selves. I should like to have been an abbot. I would 
 have made everyone work while I amused myself ! " 
 
 "Mais, Albert! Shame upon you!" cried Susanne. 
 
134 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Susanne was a pious Catholic, and her husband's ir- 
 reverent remarks shocked her immensely. But Rich- 
 ard upheld him. 
 
 " I agree with you. I should like to have been abbot, 
 but not to have passed through the ranks of begging 
 monk or preaching friar." 
 
 "Albert would have enjoyed preaching," laughed 
 Susanne. 
 
 " Not if the congregation were as inattentive to 
 my wisdom as my wife," he answered, as the car started 
 off. 
 
 Between St. Savin and Le Blanc flows the River An- 
 glin, a charming little stream, in whose waters are re- 
 flected the towers of many picturesque dwellings of 
 the nobility, and ruined feudal remains. 
 
 Susanne insisted upon going slower, that she might 
 see the country, and Angela made no objection. She 
 had been satisfied by their last furious flight. Albert 
 obeyed his wife, and then praised himself as a model 
 husband. It was past noon when they entered Le 
 Blanc, passing into the village under a lofty railway 
 viaduct of whose graceful proportions the towns- 
 people are justly proud. It is the only thing of inter- 
 est in the town except a modest vine-draped old chateau 
 and its adjoining church. 
 
 " We have not killed a peasant or even a pig," said 
 Albert, pretending to be disappointed, as his car stopped 
 at the inn door, " but we formed Miss Angela's taste 
 for speeding." 
 
 " Say demoralised her virtue as a tourist, rather," 
 Susanne exclaimed. 
 
Poitiers 135 
 
 " You Frenchmen," said Hardy, " recognise no limit 
 to speed, except that forced upon you by the inequalities 
 of the ground, and you are all as indifferent to the 
 beauties of the landscape — as " 
 
 " An American on a smooth road ! Wait till you 
 ride with him at the wheel, Miss Angela ! " 
 
 Angela shook her head, and again she blushed just a 
 little. 
 
 The funny old inn, where they were served with an 
 admirable meal by an agile waiter, was of that in- 
 describable age which arouses speculation as to whether 
 it was not built in the time of the Crusaders, and reno- 
 vated at intervals in later centuries. The most modern 
 efforts had been expended on the restaurant. Albert 
 and Richard made bets as to when the hangings had 
 been put at the sunny windows, and the dingy tapestry 
 hung on the walls. The tables and chairs and the 
 splendour of a chandelier with Welsbach burners were 
 concessions to the taste of the twentieth century. 
 
 Angela was forced to part from her friends and the 
 fascinations of motoring at Le Blanc. No persua- 
 sions could induce her to alter her plans. She was de- 
 termined not to turn aside from her present purpose. 
 The train she expected to take for Argenton did not 
 start for half an hour, and before she went she meant 
 to ask Susanne a few questions about Mr. Hardy, if 
 she got the chance. They seemed to know him so well, 
 and she wondered she had never met him at their house ; 
 he had crossed her path by such persistent accidents 
 on this trip that, she told herself, it was quite natural 
 her curiosity should be excited. 
 
136 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Madame de Sayes played into her hands by express- 
 ing a desire to wander about the village. Albert had 
 taken Richard off to look over the machine. When 
 the two ladies were walking off toward the bridge near 
 which the chateau and the church rise above the river 
 from a bank of velvety green, Angela asked without 
 preliminaries : 
 
 "Who is this Mr. Hardy, Susanne? Where did 
 you come across him? " 
 
 " He's charming, isn't he? " evasively replied Su- 
 sanne. 
 
 Angela made no answer to this, nor did her face ex- 
 press any response. Susanne looked roguish and hesi- 
 tated a moment. Her companion was so calm that she 
 stopped teasing and answered her questions. 
 
 " It was in New York that Albert knew him years 
 before we were married. My husband went over there 
 to study international law, or some such stupid thing, 
 poor dear! which I never could understand. Richard 
 Hardy became one of his best friends. They have 
 met since many times, and he always spends some 
 days with us when he takes what he calls a flier across 
 the ocean." She laughed a little rippling laugh. " So 
 you translated for him at Fontevraud ! Wasn't it droll 
 that you should meet him with us ? " She was going 
 to add that she had been telling Richard a great deal 
 about Angela before they met at the hotel door, but 
 she changed her mind and kept her counsel. " His 
 French is a trifle halting, but not so bad as my Eng- 
 lish, so we love to talk together, each in a foreign lan- 
 guage." 
 
Poitiers 137 
 
 "Your English is the dearest, prettiest tongue on 
 earth, and you know just how fascinating you are 
 whenever you look up and say, 'Is it naught?' Su- 
 sanne, you are a fraud ! No man can withstand you." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " smiled Susanne, " Richard can with- 
 stand me. Albert says so." And she chuckled merrily. 
 " To-day he did not even listen to me. He spent his 
 time watching you, and said it did his old heart good 
 to see anyone so full of pleasure in life. His old heart, 
 indeed ! " And Susanne's laugh rippled again. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " was all Angela uttered. She promptly 
 dropped the subject, although under ordinary circum- 
 stances she would have confided to Susanne how she 
 had called him Coeur de Lion for lack of a better name 
 and laughed well about it; but, somehow, she had 
 grown afraid that Susanne might be mischievous and 
 repeat it. 
 
 When it was time to leave they took her up to the 
 station at the summit of the village street, Albert driv- 
 ing the car at a snail's pace, and assuring Angela at 
 every moment that she was breaking his heart by taking 
 away his moral support and leaving him at the mercy 
 of a cruel wife and a friend who allowed him no 
 pleasure. 
 
 "Don't let him tease you, Angela. You know we 
 shall miss you horribly. I wish you would not go ! " 
 said Susanne, with genuine regret in her voice. 
 
 Mr. Hardy said nothing, but got out, took Angela's 
 handbag, and went into the station with it, while she 
 stopped to bid her friends good-bye. He tried like- 
 wise to take the two-franc umbrella, but she clung to it 
 
138 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 and refused to commit it to his care. She suddenly hated 
 that cheap, ugly, useful article, and felt very glad that 
 she had insisted against Georgina's will in bringing 
 a very beautiful new bag her sister objected seriously 
 to allowing her to take. 
 
 As she followed Mr. Hardy into the station she 
 turned round to throw a kiss to Susanne, and saw that 
 lady lean forward and smilingly whisper something to 
 her husband. Angela was sure it was some nonsense about 
 her, for Albert looked mischievous and shook his finger 
 at Angela's farewell. 
 
 The guard stopped Mr. Hardy at the entrance to 
 the platform. He could not go on without a ticket, 
 and was about to buy one when Angela nervously 
 begged him not to do so. " Please go back," she ex- 
 claimed ; " Susanne hates to be kept waiting." 
 
 She was so evidently in earnest that he gave her the 
 bag, and held out his hand: 
 
 " This is au revoir, I hope ! " 
 
 " Thank you," was all she said, as she shook hands 
 with him. 
 
 He walked slowly away, and when he reached the outer 
 door he turned to raise his hat again, but she had 
 disappeared. 
 
 Angela Victoria crossed the line to another plat- 
 form, where the train for Argenton stood waiting, 
 and clambered up the high steps of a second-class 
 carriage, which had every appearance of being the 
 oldest car in existence. It was the only one on the 
 train, so she had no choice. Travel between Le Blanc 
 and Argenton was plainly not rushing. With that 
 
Poitiers 139 
 
 fine system of economy practised by railroad companies 
 all over the world a little branch road like this was 
 the final haven of all antiquated coaches before they 
 eventually fell to pieces. 
 
 The compartment in which Angela seated herself 
 had rafters like a canal boat and a roof so low that, 
 although she was not very tall, the plumes of her hat 
 brushed the top every time she stood up. Faded blue 
 cushions were laid on the hard wooden benches, the 
 diminutive windows were overcast with the dust of 
 ages, and the floor, of some mysterious composition, 
 had retained the impression made by generations of 
 excited feet. 
 
 Angela took entire possession of this antiquated ve- 
 hicle and then waited for the train to move. Having 
 a whole line to itself at Le Blanc, it goes when 
 the officials get ready; it was high time for it to be 
 starting, but these worthies, perhaps detained at their 
 coffee, were in no hurry. A soldier who, with his 
 wife and little son, after excitedly examining all the 
 compartments of the coach had finally selected the 
 carriage next hers, beguiled the time for Angela by 
 ' affording her some mild amusement. 
 
 The man of war installed his wife and child com- 
 fortably in their places, and then began solemnly march- 
 ing up and down the platform, earnestly discussing 
 politics with the conductor, the only official in attend- 
 ance. At regular intervals a baby voice calling 
 "Pa — Pa — ," in a sing-song fashion arrested his 
 flow of wisdom. 
 
 The soldier would then stop short, and, instead of 
 
140 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 being annoyed by the interruption, would exclaim in 
 tones of indescribable pride and tenderness: 
 
 " Mon fils! " with a rising inflection, and then con- 
 tinue his conversation with the guard and his strut up 
 and down the platform. 
 
 " For all the world like a cuckoo clock," thought 
 Angela to herself. 
 
 No train in France starts without proper ceremony. 
 The etiquette is as severe as at the Spanish court. 
 
 First: a dinner bell rings violently. 
 
 Second: a shrill whistle blows. 
 
 Third : a loud horn sounds 
 
 Fourth : the locomotive utters a squeal like a dis- 
 tressed animal, and the cars move leisurely off. 
 
 At the sound of the whistle another " Pa — Pa — ," 
 this time in distressed tones, came from the baby lips; 
 the soldier leaped into the carriage, his friend shut the 
 door, and the train was off, winding away on the high 
 bank above the river. 
 
 Angela settled back with a sigh. She felt unac- 
 countably melancholy. " It is better never to have 
 been in an automobile than to be obliged to leave one 
 for an antiquated second-class carriage on which all 
 the wheels are flat." 
 
 She began to feel a trifle uncertain about the wis- 
 dom of continuing her tour alone. She even considered 
 for a moment taking a quick train from Argenton and 
 joining Georgina at San Remo. Suddenly the idea 
 of " the book " popped into her mind. She would never 
 dare face Georgina after the determined stand she 
 had taken with only one line of that celebrated work 
 
ON THE WAY TO ARGENTON 
 
Poitiers 141 
 
 completed. With her happy faculty for finding con- 
 solation in the inevitable, she dismissed the motor and 
 loneliness with one shake of the head and devoted her- 
 self to the view along that charming river, the Creuse, 
 whose waters, green with the reflection of the steep 
 banks and trees bending over to drink, were visible 
 from her carriage windows. 
 
 She now began to perceive that this short journey 
 from Le Blanc to Argenton was one of the loveliest 
 she had ever taken. 
 
 She looked down into a shady hollow at Ruffec-le- 
 Chateau where it nestled in the valley. A league or 
 two beyond came Ciron, where a curious Lanterne-des- 
 Morts, erected beneath a spreading oak, was plainly visi- 
 ble from her perch in the high coach. Along the 
 course of the river the towers of the imposing Chateau 
 de Ronf ort, with its triple enclosure, reawakened dreams 
 of feudal times ; beyond, the tourelles of the Chateau 
 de la Barre mirrored themselves in the smooth waters 
 of the river, and the double towers of the Chateau de 
 Corse raised themselves among the shining groves of 
 green trees along the bank. The train crossed and 
 recrossed the little river, and at least four or five more 
 chateaux, both restored and falling into decay, inter- 
 ested her before they finally drew into the station of 
 Argenton. The Creuse and the Anglin, rippling along 
 quietly by the road she had followed to-day, excited 
 her imagination to enchanting pictures of the social 
 life in ancient Poitou. 
 
# ■# s$? 
 
 Chapter V 
 
 ABGENTON 
 
 ^.RGENTON was ere fete. Although rain had evi- 
 dently fallen there and the streets were wet and muddy, 
 young girls in white shoes, dainty white dresses, and 
 long tulle veils crowned with wreaths of white roses, 
 were picking their way about from house to house in 
 company with their mothers, likewise in Sunday gowns, 
 receiving congratulations on their First Communion. 
 Boys in shining new black suits, with gold-fringed white 
 ribbon tied around their right arms to show that they 
 were likewise communicants, modestly brought up the 
 rear in each one of these little processions. 
 
 In the balconies of the curious houses overhanging 
 the Creuse, in the galleries closed in with glass along 
 the river, tables with wine and sweetmeats were spread, 
 and the young communicants flitted in and out, making 
 a very pretty picture. Angela controlled her desire 
 to linger in the street and make herself a part of the 
 festivity, and went directly to the hotel, where a smil- 
 ing, elderly valet gave her the choice of the best rooms. 
 She selected one on the side of the water overlooking 
 the pretty little hotel garden, growing in the shadow of 
 the long bridge, and from which she had a view of the 
 quaint houses piled one above another on the opposite 
 side of the river. The valet left her after she had 
 
 143 
 
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 .tit* rBriveTfn* 
 
 &J2L ^ , 
 
 Tessormieres >lli ., 
 
 ^SS, function *, r^ 
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Argenton 143 
 
 decided which room she preferred, and when he came 
 back with her trunk he handed her two letters. 
 
 " These have been awaiting madame all the week. 
 They are for her n'est pas? " 
 
 Yes, they were; although mademoiselle stood writ- 
 ten on the address instead of the desired madame she 
 had adopted. 
 
 One was from Georgina and one from a young girl 
 cousin. She turned the envelope over. How nice of 
 Margot to write her. Nevertheless, she prepared to 
 read Georgina's letter first. Angela Victoria sat down 
 by the broad window overlooking the garden and 
 opened her sister's epistle. It was very long. It 
 began with several pages of good advice, and had been 
 written on the very day which she left Paris. She 
 " hoped that Angela would not be lonesome," and then 
 after cautioning her for at least a page on the sub- 
 ject of many things about which she was certainly 
 in need of caution, but never would acquire it even with 
 Georgina's help, it ended thus: "Margot has just 
 been here to wish me good-bye, and to declare that the 
 thing she most desires to do in this world is to join 
 you and come to Italy. I hate to think of your being 
 quite alone. Why do you not let her meet you at 
 Argenton? It is on the direct line from Paris to 
 Limoges, and so few hours in the train that she could 
 easily travel there alone. She says she can be ready 
 to leave in two hours' time whenever you send her a 
 telegram. I advise you to let her come. She speaks 
 the language, does not wear showy hats, and knows 
 how to behave. 
 
144 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " I can't imagine why she wants to leave Paris at this 
 season. Perhaps she's trying to escape some admirer. 
 But whatever the real reason may be, she pretends it 
 is preference for your society and the desire to travel." 
 
 This little touch was very characteristic of Geor- 
 gina. 
 
 Margot's letter was short, and written after Geor- 
 gina was well on her way to Italy. 
 
 " Dear. Cousin Angela : 
 
 " I am sitting with my trunk all packed and ready 
 to stuff the last things into my bag, for I know you 
 will send for me the moment this reaches you. I must 
 come! I am so tired of running around in an Anglo- 
 American-French circle. I want to strike out on some 
 new, strange, unexplored path. I don't want to do all 
 the things over again I did last year when I was abroad. 
 Mamma loves society and cannot understand how I 
 feel, but now that Constance is out she has an ever- 
 willing companion, so she says I may go to you if 
 I choose and take Robinson with me. He's a good dog 
 and I am sure no hotelkeeper in France objects to 
 dogs, so do say I can come and bring him. Do — do — 
 dear Cousin Angela; I shall be very miserable if you 
 don't, and if you will have me shall be more than ever 
 your loving 
 
 " Mabgot." 
 
 This very much underlined and girlish effusion quite 
 touched Angela's heart. She hesitated a moment on 
 account of Robinson — a small Boston terrier from 
 
Argenton 145 
 
 whom Margot was rarely separated, and whose person- 
 ality and intelligence made him a credit to the dog 
 world. Angela was very fond of him, but she feared 
 for a minute he might be a bother; then her desire 
 for society, which had so unexpectedly developed in the 
 last twenty-four hours, triumphed over all obstacles. 
 That evening Margot received in Paris a message by 
 telegraph : 
 
 " Come, both of you ; wire hour of train." 
 
 As a result of this message, the next day when the 
 noonday express from Paris stopped at Argenton, a 
 tall young woman, with a little bull-faced doggie under 
 her arm, both looking smiling and happy, stepped from 
 the train and clasped Angela in a loving embrace. 
 
 " We can walk to the hotel, can't we, Cousin Angela? 
 We've had a delightful journey, and we are so glad 
 to be out of Paris, but it was very hard for one of 
 us to keep still ! So good of you to let me bring Robin- 
 son ! He doesn't get on with mamma's Flou-Flou, and 
 no one at home loves him as I do. I simply could not 
 have come without him." 
 
 Robinson, by graceful pirouettes, singular wriggling 
 antics, by racings backward and forward, and all those 
 forms of delighted expressions known to dogs, was 
 endeavouring to declare his excessive appreciation and 
 thankfulness for the invitation he had received to en- 
 joy the freedom of provincial pleasure. He led the 
 way to the hotel, and was there received with exuberant 
 welcome by a frolicsome pointer, who played the role 
 of canine host. To tell the truth, Robinson's insinu- 
 ating manner, tact, and proper policy, of which he 
 
146 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 had enough to make the fortune of a whole diplomatic 
 corps, won the hearts of the mistress and all the serv- 
 ants of each establishment he visited. 
 
 After Margot had been comfortably installed in a 
 chamber adjoining that of Angela, and had eaten a 
 luncheon to which she did ample justice, for she was 
 hungry after her long morning in the train, the trio 
 sauntered put and took their path through the narrow 
 streets of the town until they reached the lower bridge. 
 Here they lounged on the parapet, fascinated by the 
 many hues of the gables and wooden galleries and pic- 
 turesque jumble of houses thrown against the green 
 hillside and clustering thick above the broad river, in 
 which all the colours of the rainbow fight for mastery, 
 but are made soft and harmonious by the artistic touch 
 of time. Behind the houses overhanging the water, 
 where it goes fighting its way over the stones, the 
 graceful spire of the parish church rises on the lower 
 side, while on the upper, the Rive Droite, quaint and 
 interesting, an old chapel and bits of the ancient towers 
 of castellated times, nestle under the protection of a 
 great gilt statue of the Virgin erected where once the 
 castle keep frowned down upon the narrow dell. A 
 mighty castle it was crowning the top of this hill — a 
 castle with eleven towers which defended the pass and 
 all the chateaux and feudal halls which cluster so thick 
 on the banks of the Creuse. It was destroyed in the 
 time of Richelieu, and given over to the natives as a 
 quarry. Nearly all the houses of the present day and 
 one of the bridges, it is said, have been built from this 
 splendid old fortress. 
 
ARGENTON 
 
 THE RIGHT AND LEFT BANK OF THE RIVER CREUSE 
 
Argenton 147 
 
 " How did you discover Argenton, Cousin Angela? " 
 asked Margot. "It is supremely lovely." 
 
 Angela had not discovered Argenton. Long ago 
 poets wrote of its ancient mill, which to this day holds 
 the middle of the stream, throwing out water with its 
 busy wheel like a mischievous boy kicking about spray 
 with all the strength of his small feet as he wades in a 
 pool; painters innumerable have tried in vain to repro- 
 duce the charm of the overhanging houses, with their 
 deep sweeping roofs, and wonderfully beautiful etch- 
 ings exist of the old bridge and the ancient houses 
 huddled close at either end of it. 
 
 While Margot and Angela leaned over, looking down 
 into the water, Robinson explored every inch of the ter- 
 ritory far and near; he sniffed at the children who 
 passed and received with as cool condescension as 
 became his birth any attempt at friendly advances. 
 He could not see what conceivable object would possibly 
 detain his mistress and delay his walk. He jumped 
 lightly on top of the parapet and tried to follow their 
 eyes with his own. The sight he saw was so unworthy 
 of his notice that he promptly jumped down and in- 
 vited them in loud tones to be moving on. The sound 
 of a drum just then mingling with his entreaties, ex- 
 citied the ladies' curiosity. Climbing up the zigzag 
 street, they came to an open space before the chapel 
 they had been admiring from a distance, and found 
 the drummer, who was likewise the town-crier. He 
 was mumbling a piece of news quite unintelligible to 
 his listeners, for the reason that besides being the oldest 
 inhabitant the poor old person had lost all of his teeth. 
 
148 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Nobody but Angela and Margot, and a few open- 
 mouthed children, were at all interested in his announce- 
 ments, which seemed to concern the elections, as nearly 
 as they could make out. The townswomen lounged in 
 their doorways, gossiping, and the old man, after 
 uttering his muttered news, pounded his drum again 
 with all his might, and, calling out to them, " Bon jour, 
 Madame Leon — bonjour, Madame Constant," he hobbled 
 off, noisily beating with all his might upon the instru- 
 ment strung around his neck. A circle of dogs had 
 gathered, which Robinson first joined, then routed, 
 when he was promptly suppressed by his mistress and 
 forced to trot abjectly by her side up the steep way 
 which led to the top of the hill. 
 
 " How I wish we had four legs ! " said Angela, as 
 she watched the agile little beast spring lightly up a 
 flight of steep steps mounting to the statue and the 
 chapel beneath it. The little doggie stopped occasion- 
 ally to look back pityingly at their toilsome advance. 
 Suddenly he began to bark and leaped four steps at a 
 time in his hurry to rea-ch the plateau above. 
 
 "What can he be barking at so furiously?" said 
 Angela excitedly. " He doesn't chase sheep, does 
 he?" 
 
 She was not quite sure yet that it had been wise to 
 invite a dog to join her travelling party. 
 
 " If such a thing were possible in this strange town," 
 said his mistress, " I should think there was someone 
 up there whom my little doggie knows and likes. That 
 sounds like joy. I understand all his tones. Who can 
 it be? " 
 
Argenton 149 
 
 Margot began to follow in the wake of the little 
 animal with flying steps, but Angela Victoria still toiled 
 up laboriously. A man was coming to meet them at 
 the top, around whom Robinson was bounding and 
 circling. Margot hurried still more, holding out both 
 her hands. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Hardy, how glad I am to see you ! Where 
 did you come from ! Did you know I was here? Have 
 you met my Cousin Angela? " 
 
 " Not so fast, not so fast, Margot. I can't answer 
 everything at once. I can only tell you one thing at 
 a time. I have met your cousin; we spent yesterday 
 morning together." 
 
 Margot looked around amazed and delighted. 
 Angela seemed slightly vexed. She thought to 
 herself, " Why does he always say he has seen me 
 before? " 
 
 Margot went right on with her questions. " Are 
 you stopping at our hotel? " she asked. 
 
 " I am not stopping at any hotel yet. I left my 
 luggage at the station and came up here to look around 
 before deciding what I should do." 
 
 " You can't find any higher place to look around 
 in Argenton for a hotel than this one," laughed Mar- 
 got, sweeping her extended arm over the broad view 
 beneath them. 
 
 " I couldn't find one more enticing." 
 
 The high hills, following the course of the winding 
 river, appeared low from the elevation; rows of poplar 
 trees, bordering the course of the stream, stood up 
 like stiff green plumes bowing and bending slightly 
 
150 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 with the breeze. There were angry clouds near the hori- 
 zon, but the sun shone serenely above them and touched 
 the edges of the dark masses with a ripe, golden-red 
 light. 
 
 " Did you ever see such a sky, Cousin Angela ! Above 
 us there are the* softest clouds floating in the brightest 
 blue, and down over there behind the town there is a 
 gathering of regular storm fiends." 
 
 Along the river bank the women were pounding wet 
 linen, and the sound of their voices as they laughed and 
 talked together floated up to the high hilltop ; a white 
 road wound away over the emerald hills until it dis- 
 appeared like a bit of whipcord in the distance. Peas- 
 ants in their black cotton blouses were ploughing 
 every strip of land available for planting. Their wives 
 were digging the small gardens, and with figures out- 
 lined sharply against the vivid sky sowers with ex- 
 tended arms trod the furrows, engaged in the most 
 graceful of all bucolic labours. The birds hushed their 
 songs for a moment, their melody drowned by an in- 
 visible military band somewhere down in the narrow 
 streets of the town. Not a living being could they 
 see moving about except two men on one patient donkey 
 crossing over the upper bridge, and a small dog who, 
 while keeping guard just beneath, on the steps of a 
 cottage, was engaged in a staring match with Robin- 
 son, who stood stiff-legged and frozen like a small 
 growling machine at the top of the steep flight up 
 which he had just sprung with such eagerness. 
 
 " Come and have tea with us, Mr. Hardy — can we 
 get tea, Cousin Angela? Oh, I don't mean tea, of 
 
Argenton 151 
 
 course we can't get any tea in a village! Well, then, 
 come and have a cake — we can always find cakes in 
 France." 
 
 " I'll come and treat you to a cake ; I won't promise 
 to eat one myself." 
 
 They left the heights for the river streets below, and 
 in one of the narrow lanes found a bakery in which 
 very good cakes were approved and eaten. Women 
 came to their house doors to look at the strangers, to 
 bow pleasantly, and to laugh at Robinson, who in- 
 troduced himself to new dog friends at every cor- 
 ner. 
 
 The houses, so picturesque on the riverside, show 
 uninviting facades on the unpaved inner street. The 
 little party stepped high over the mud-puddles, and 
 came out at last on the lower bridge in front of their 
 hotel. 
 
 " How much more interesting everything looks, seen 
 in the right company," said Richard Hardy to Mar- 
 got. " I did not fully appreciate the artistic beauty 
 of this place until I met you ladies." 
 
 " We like it ever so much better since you came, 
 don't we, Cousin Angela? 
 
 " Considering that you only discovered me fifteen 
 minutes ago, I don't believe your cousin can answer 
 that question satisfactorily." 
 
 Angela laughed. " And considering that Margot 
 herself only arrived in Argenton about two hours ago, 
 I do not think her opinion is worth a great deal." 
 
 Mr. Hardy turned to Angela and asked about the 
 history of the town. " Do you know," he said, 
 
152 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " whether the Richard in whose company we first met 
 ever spent any of his warlike genius on this place? " 
 
 Angela was about to reply, when Margot laughingly 
 said, " No, I think he never came here ; I don't think 
 anyone came here but Richelieu, who pulled down the 
 castle, and the Revolutionists, who hunted all the nobles 
 living in the vicinity, and set up a reign of terror 
 here." She said this in such a sing-song way, with 
 such a mischievous look upon her face, that both Hardy 
 and Angela gazed at her in surprise. 
 
 " Where did you learn so much? " exclaimed Richard 
 Hardy. 
 
 Still smiling, chuckling, in fact, Margot replied, " I 
 studied it on the train coming down here. Cousin 
 Georgina said I couldn't come unless I tried to teach 
 Cousin Angela something. But that's all I've learned 
 so far. I mean to study every evening and instruct 
 her by day." 
 
 Angela, laughing heartily, went off into the hotel, 
 and left the two others to watch a tandem of two little 
 donkeys being skilfully driven along by a peasant boy. 
 Margot was so enchanted by country sights and sounds, 
 and Robinson so wild with the delight of freedom and 
 the company of the hotel setter, that Mr. Hardy felt 
 he was quite safe in leaving them to enjoy themselves, 
 while he went off to the station to make arangements 
 about his luggage. 
 
 It was nearly dinner time when Margot at length 
 decided to go in and join her cousin. 
 
 "Why didn't you stay out on the bridge with us? 
 It was lots of fun." 
 
Argenton 153 
 
 " I wanted to see the landlady. You see we must 
 leave here to-morrow." 
 
 " Leave here to-morrow ! " cried Margot. " Oh, 
 Cousin Angela! and Dick Hardy has just come; I 
 thought we could stay and motor about awhile. I 
 want to see all the valley of the Creuse, Gargilesse, 
 and some of those places Georges Sand writes about. 
 I've been reading some of her books on purpose. Mr. 
 Hardy says he can hire a motor car and that the 
 roads are splendid about here." 
 
 Angela was noncommittal. She asked, instead of 
 replying, " Where did you know Mr. Hardy? " Again 
 she was questioning concerning a man whom everybody 
 seemed to know but her. 
 
 " Oh, mamma has known Dick Hardy for ages ! They 
 are terribly good friends ! " 
 
 Angela became very dignified. " I don't think it 
 sounds very well for you to call a man of his age by 
 his first name, even when you are talking behind his 
 back." 
 
 Margot's face became a study in merriment. " I 
 like men of his age, as you call it ! And, Cousin Angela, 
 everyone calls him Dick. I believe even Robinson does 
 in his bark talk — why, what has happened to you? 
 You're getting just like Cousin Georgina ! " 
 
 It was Angela's turn to smile then. She tried in 
 vain to repress her amusement and to look stern. 
 
 " Of course I never call him anything to his face 
 but Mr. Hardy; I often want to, and some day my 
 tongue may slip. He gave me Robinson, that's why 
 the little doggie loves him so. Papa adores him, and 
 
154 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 I'm glad he's here. I must ask him how he happened 
 to come. He's worth all the silly youngsters I left 
 behind in Paris. Now come, truly; don't you think 
 he's great. You must like him ; everybody does ! " said 
 Margot, using a favourite and very American argu- 
 ment. 
 
 Angela's smooth brow wrinkled into as severe a frown 
 as her amiable countenance could manage. " I haven't 
 thought much about him. He was with the De Sayes 
 yesterday when they took me with them in their car, 
 but I first met him at Fontevraud, where he pretended 
 not to be able to speak French. I hate deceit. That 
 prejudiced me against him." 
 
 This excuse sounded lame to Margot for not 
 liking a man altogether attractive. She laughed so 
 heartily that Robinson came bounding up to see what 
 was the matter. " Poor dear ; did you expect him to 
 tell you the history of his life — just so — comme ca — 
 and as to the French — well, you should hear him speak 
 it and you would not wonder that he felt somewhat 
 modest! Imagine the most English accent you ever 
 heard, and it will be only half as English as his is. 
 He manages to get on some way, and has gone this 
 minute for his luggage. He's coming here to stay. I 
 asked him to." 
 
 "Why, Margot! You should not have done that. 
 We are two unmarried women alone here ! " 
 
 " Oh, Cousin Georgina, go away ! I want my Angela 
 Victoria ! She is not fussy ; she lets me do what I want," 
 sang Margot, catching the unresisting lady round the 
 waist and half lifting her off the floor. 
 
Argenton 155 
 
 " If you are so wild, Margot, and so slangy, I will 
 send you back to Paris." 
 
 " No, you won't ! Not now ! I tell you I'm quiet 
 enough there and I will be good here. How can I help 
 being a little silly when I am with you in this lovely 
 place and such a nice man has come. You like nice 
 men yourself; you know you do. Mamma says you 
 would never have escaped matrimony if it wasn't for 
 Georgina. Robinson will chaperone us all." 
 
 Angela Victoria had not the character to resist the 
 spirits of a girl with a temperament so like her own. 
 Robinson, on hearing his name mentioned, wagged his 
 stump of a tail to the best of his ability and expressed 
 his willingness to do his best as a guardian by spring- 
 ing on Angela's knee and flinging his little blunt head 
 against her shoulder; after which demonstration he 
 quickly jumped down again, and making his way to 
 the door, glued his nose to the crack. He was ready 
 to go again. 
 
 "Must we really go to-morrow, Cousin Angela? 
 Did you mean it? Can't we make one little trip up the 
 valley?" Margot put her arm around Angela's neck 
 and became insinuatingly affectionate. 
 
 " I must do so much for my book before I get to 
 Italy, and Georgina expects us very soon." Angela 
 was wavering perceptibly. 
 
 " Bother Georgina ! " Margot merely said, when her 
 cousin arrested that irreverent ejaculation by exclaim- 
 ing : " Ring for Jean ; we must find out about the 
 trains and see what we can do." 
 
 Jean No. IV., his fatherly smile broader than ever, 
 
156 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 answered the bell promptly and gave them at once that 
 air of interested attention by which a good French 
 servant invariably invites confidence. 
 
 Margot laid her desires before him. 
 
 He swore his favourite oath. 
 
 " Sacre nom d*un chien," at which Robinson quiv- 
 ered ; " you have great time to see everything before 
 the train for Brive shall depart at nearly three o'clock 
 to-morrow. There is only one tram going to Le Chatre 
 and, sacre nom d'wi chien, the train stops at every 
 gate ! If Madame would only take an auto ! " He had a 
 friend who charged only twenty-five centimes the kilo- 
 metre and essence extra. "Un rienl " It is but forty- 
 seven kilometres to Le Chatre, but that is not the most 
 interesting point in the valley, even if Georges Sand 
 did live there. She wrote her books in a village they 
 should see. The road is " un peu accident," but very 
 good. By starting early the ladies could make a fine 
 excursion through this veritable little Switzerland 
 we have here and get back in time for a good 
 luncheon before starting. Should he fetch his friend, 
 the motorist? 
 
 Margot glanced imploringly at her cousin, who 
 needed no such inducement to yield to her own desires. 
 
 " Please, Cousin Angela, please ! " 
 
 Angela was only too willing to be persuaded. The 
 friend was fetched in an incredibly short time, and he 
 came provided with a map and the certain assurance 
 that " his auto (accent on the o) never broke down." 
 
 When he left, the plans were arranged for the next 
 morning. 
 
Argenton 157 
 
 "You may ask Mr. Hardy to join us," said Angela, 
 not wishing to be too hard hearted ; " he knows so 
 much about motor cars it might be nice to have him 
 along." 
 
 " I don't see why you didn't let him engage the 
 automobile, Cousin Angela. He asked me if he might 
 not do it, and now I am afraid he will be hurt." 
 
 " I am not quite certain," said Angela, with dignity, 
 " about the propriety of asking him at all, but if he 
 comes we must not be under obligations to him. Now, 
 let us go down to dinner." 
 
 Margot had vanquished her cousin; Mr. Hardy had 
 joined the party. They all sat at the same small table 
 for dinner, and Robinson lay stretched contentedly 
 under it at their feet. 
 
 " When I hear the rich rolling accent of Midi and 
 watch the hotel guests carefully wiping off their plates 
 and polishing their goblets with their napkins," said 
 Margot, " I realise that I am really travelling in 
 France." 
 
 A rosy-cheeked young waiter served everyone in 
 the dining-room, attending with such skill and alac- 
 rity to his duties that Richard declared had his clothes 
 not been several sizes too large for him he would sur- 
 pass in every respect the best waiter in Paris. 
 
 After dinner they went out into the soft evening 
 air to see the young moon, hanging like a crescent 
 of mother-of-pearl in the lovely twilight sky of topaz 
 and amethyst. The storm clouds Margot had called 
 fiends were no longer visible. They had taken them- 
 selves off to some other part of the country. The re- 
 
158 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 flection of the sky made the waters of the Creuse like 
 opal. The ladies and Mr. Hardy lingered on the bridge 
 until the river darkened to the colour of dull metal, 
 the moon disappeared and the lights in the houses 
 looked like stars reflected in the flood. 
 
 Jean's friend the chauffeur was waiting for them 
 when they came in, and although Mr. Hardy at first 
 protested strenuously against being the guests of ladies, 
 Angela's very serious and sober air when he objected 
 had the desired effect of making him accept the posi- 
 tion as gracefully as possible. 
 
 The man was ordered to be at the hotel by half -past 
 seven that they might get as long a morning as possible 
 in the valley. 
 
 The sun rose on one of those soft spring mornings 
 when lovers' hearts grow tender, young poets plunge 
 more enigmatically into verse, and tourists draw heavily 
 on their fund of enthusiasm. Down in the garden below 
 the hotel windows the blossoming fruit trees looked like 
 masses of frosted silver. The jonquils in the round 
 beds had all got up early and were holding their heads 
 together gossiping about the end of the wet weather. 
 The iris, planted thick near the river, hung over to 
 admire its beauty in the clear water, and the cook- 
 boys, the marmitons, in snowy aprons and white caps, 
 flitted back and forth at their duties, drawing water or 
 carrying provisions to some cool storehouse under the 
 stone arches of the bridge, where overhead were pass- 
 ing numerous placid little donkeys carrying panniers 
 piled high with fresh lettuce, carrots, radishes and the 
 tender green cabbage they were bearing to the market. 
 
Argenton 159 
 
 The peasant boys driving the little beasts leaned over 
 the parapet to shout at the little cooks below in the 
 garden, giving their slow-moving asses an excuse for 
 blocking the way and the driver of the next behind 
 them a chance to use his lungs. 
 
 The haze of the atmosphere hung like a veil around 
 the great golden statue of the protecting Virgin, mak- 
 ing the huge figure look like a heavenly apparition ; the 
 walls, gables, pinnacles, towers and roofs of the con- 
 fused little town on the hillside had more colours 
 and shades to show than were ever gathered together 
 on one painter's palette; and the most telling touch of 
 it all was furnished by a mass of peach blossoms which 
 pushed itself into view between the old galleries and 
 .made a splash of pink above the grey foundations of 
 the houses overhanging the river. The clear waters of 
 the Creuse went flowing on tranquilly, unruffled by the 
 changing colour that it mirrored, reflecting sky, houses 
 and gardens. 
 
 " Quel jour! Quel jour! " Jean IV. exclaimed when 
 he brought the coffee. He had an air of proprietorship, 
 as if he had made the weather to order. " Madame 
 should stay a week." 
 
 Margot, taking the words out of Angela's mouth, 
 promptly replied that they expected to come back soon 
 for an unlimited visit. She had been out early with 
 Robinson for a run — lazy Robinson, who looked dis- 
 gusted at being routed out of his bed so long before 
 the coffee came. She had met Richard Hardy sitting 
 smoking on the end of the bridge, and he had romped 
 with her and the little dog. 
 
160 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " Oh, Cousin Angela ! " she cried, as she came in 
 with her face all aglow with freshness and joy. " I 
 am having the time of my life! Such a day! Such 
 darling little donkeys! And such good company as 
 you and Dick Hardy ! " 
 
 When they were ready and went down to start on 
 their expedition it was not yet eight o'clock. The car 
 stood ready, and Richard was walking round and round 
 it in company with its proud owner and having its 
 beauties and perfections carefully pointed out to him. 
 
 " Not pretty, but all right," he said to the ladies in 
 English. 
 
 The auto in question was indeed a very humble 
 member of the family to which the car belonged wherein 
 Angela had distingushed herself as a speed maniac a 
 few days before. It was not new, showy, or very large, 
 but it was roomy and comfortable. 
 
 Jean, who felt more or less responsibility about the 
 trip and was determined to make the expedition a suc- 
 cess, came out bringing a good-sized basket, from which 
 the neck of a small bottle protruded and wherein, among 
 snowy napkins, invisible dainties were evidently con- 
 cealed. 
 
 " Ces dames may want a picnic breakfast in some 
 one of our ravines ravissants, and it is impossible that 
 the peasants should give them proper food," he said 
 to his friend the chauffeur, confiding the basket to his 
 care with as much solicitude as if it had, been a baby. 
 He then stood with his hands tucked under the bib of 
 his long blue apron and superintended their departure 
 with many nods and wishes for a " bonne journSe." 
 
Argenton 161 
 
 Margot chose her place beside the driver. " I have 
 •primed my memory with all the poetical and descriptive 
 phrases I could gather about the valley of the Creuse 
 in either George Sand or the Guides Joanne, and I 
 simply must fire them off to astonish the mecanicicn 
 when he begins with his ' Voilas,' his ' Ohs ! ' and his 
 ' Ahs ! ' and I must keep ahead of his enthusiasm to 
 make my ride perfect." 
 
 " Just throw a few of your original superlatives at 
 him and he will never be able to rise above them," said 
 Richard, as he took his place beside Angela Victoria. 
 
 This lady, glancing into his face, thought she had 
 never seen eyes so expressive of ardent admiration and 
 affection as when they dwelt upon Margot's vivacious 
 countenance. 
 
 Robinson divided his attention between the front and 
 the back seat. Sitting bolt upright beside his mistress, 
 he kept up a rumbling, growling soliloquy, directed with 
 perfect impartiality at the donkeys, cats and dogs they 
 met as they rolled through the streets of the town. 
 When the last houses had been passed he scrambled over 
 the back of the seat to find a comfortable and less 
 crowded spot between Angela and Richard, there to 
 curl himself into an incredibly small circle of dog and 
 resume his interrupted morning nap. Scenery had no 
 charms for Robinson. He had not read Georges Sand. 
 
 They ascended a long, sloping road, until at the 
 top the driver, stopped his car and they looked back 
 upon a semicircle in which green fields and grey cliffs 
 mingled in the amphitheatre falling down to the river. 
 Far beyond were the blue outlines of the hills* The 
 
162 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 valley of the Creuse, called by a French author the 
 Highlands of Berry, deserves all the praise lavished 
 upon its charming and diversified scenery by admirers. 
 Among fertile fields, rugged crags and romantic ravines 
 the valley road winds up and down hill, following 
 sometimes the wanderings of the river and then, turn- 
 ing inland, affording glimpses of brawling brooks and 
 mildly trickling streams, which gush from the folds of 
 the cliffs and meander sedately in the shade of the glens. 
 
 Ancient grey villages, with ruined chateaux and 
 churches dating from the Crusaders, cling to the hill- 
 sides, turning their backs upon the precipice. There 
 are rolling, highly cultivated uplands and enchanting 
 wild hollows. 
 
 " All our good bourgeois and the young poets from 
 our cities come here to see the precipices and then 
 naively believe that the Alps and the Pyrenees have 
 nothing to teach them." — Georges Sand. 
 
 Among the groves of trees, their tender leaves a 
 juicy green, were numbers of wild pear trees in full 
 blossom, and here and there the delicately tinted branch 
 of a wild plum or peach tree made the landscape a 
 lovely thing to look upon. Labourers in their blouses 
 were working in the field, old women passed them on 
 their way from one village to another; and Margot 
 quite forgot the lesson she had learned in the expressive 
 ejaculations called forth by the genuine pleasure she 
 experienced. It was only as they approached the quaint 
 little hamlet of Gargilesse, where that novelist " lived, 
 loved and wrote," as the wise chauffeur expressed it, 
 that she began to spring upon him some of the quota- 
 
Argenton 163 
 
 tions with which she had stored her memory. His 
 tongue was loosened completely, and he found as 
 many wonderful adjectives with which to express him- 
 self as if he had never seen any of these romantic views 
 before. He did not rush his car ; he halted at the best 
 points, he knew every turn and twist of the road, and 
 was as proud of the beauty of the country as if every 
 inch of it was his own property. 
 
 " Behold how like velvet the fields are ! Ce sont des 
 veritdbles montagnes de verdure. And the rocks, are 
 they not forbidding? They were good safe places on 
 which to put those castles." He pointed out several 
 ruined towers in the far distance. " Ah, Madame! 
 Those were rude warriors who lived here ! They fought 
 much! C'etait des gens, ces vleux guerriers! " 
 
 "I wonder if our friend Richard," Mr. Hardy 
 said quietly to Angela, " did not storm about these 
 parts on his way down to fight his brothers and the 
 nobles in the south." 
 
 " I am sure he led his knights through here many 
 times," enthusiastically answered Angela Victoria, and 
 then they plunged into speculations concerning the Mid- 
 dle Ages, while the driver on the front seat, between pro- 
 longed exclamations of delight, entertained Margot 
 with the local sayings and customs of the neighbourhood. 
 The comical humour which he expressed in his face 
 when he told her that the Poitou peasant believes that 
 if he washes on the twenty-fifth of March, " le jour de 
 Notre Dame," someone in his family would die before 
 the year was out, and therefore, to be on the safe side, 
 he never washes at all, pleased her more than all the 
 
164 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 literature she had acquired. Gargilesse and Le Pin are 
 both villages of which Georges Sand writes so enchant- 
 ingly in her " Promenades autour d'un Village." They 
 took their luncheon in a cool dell beside a brook in the 
 shade of a ruined castle. The snowy napkins, spread 
 out on the turf amidst a growing bouquet of charming 
 wild flowers, a decoration of which few tables can 
 boast, revealed at their undoing little rolls of bread, 
 crisp and dainty, some chicken, which appealed to the 
 sharpened appetite, fresh cheese and butter, and a bottle 
 of very good wine. After they had quite finished to 
 the very last crumb the appetising refreshments pre- 
 pared for them by Jean they came home by another 
 road, still within sight of the capricious torrent of the 
 Creuse, and reached the hotel after what had been a 
 morning of infinite delight. The sentiment of the en- 
 tire party echoed the words of Georges Sand : " C'est 
 une Arcadie, dans toute la force du mot . . . Une 
 journee a" Arcadie au cazur de la France, c'est tout ce 
 que Von peut demander au temps ou nous vivons." — 
 Promenades autour d'wn Village. 
 
 Jean came out to receive them with an air that im- 
 plied he had been the person who invited them to enjoy 
 all this pleasure. He stood by beaming with interest 
 and delight as Angela paid the man and expressed her 
 warmest gratitude at the same time. Richard secretly 
 added a generous fee as soon as she had turned her 
 back, and expressed his sense of obligation to the man 
 in mangled French, thereby earning Jean's friendship 
 for life. 
 
 Nothing had been said about Mr. Hardy's departure. 
 
Argenton 165 
 
 If Margot knew his plans she kept them to herself. 
 She followed her cousin upstairs after the chauffeur 
 and his car had reluctantly rolled away and found her 
 gathering up the last odds and ends. Angela did not 
 mention Richard or appear to think anything about 
 him, but when the omnibus drove up to the door to 
 take them to the station he joined them quite as nat- 
 urally as if he were personally conducting the party. 
 He calmly asked Angela about her tickets when they 
 reached the station, bought one for Margot and him- 
 self, as if it were quite his business to do so, and had 
 the luggage registered for Brive. As he handed An- 
 gela the bulletins he said, with a smile: 
 
 " You see I know quite enough French to be useful, 
 although I should not like to speak it where you lin- 
 guists could hear me; and I must confess I can't catch 
 it when one of those rapid-firing native tongues shoots 
 off the sentences at random. I only know travellers' 
 French." 
 
SJj? 9$fe 9^9 
 
 Chapter VI 
 
 BEIVE 
 
 XJETWEEN Argenton and Brive lies a country of 
 great natural beauty and romantic historical interest. 
 Here begins Central France, a district full of variety 
 and charm. It is the land of mediaeval battlings, this 
 centre of France, fought over by Anjou, England, and 
 Poitou; the keynote to the quarrels of the turbulent 
 Counts of Toulouse and Dukes of Aquitaine. It is 
 sprinkled thickly with the remains of the most impreg- 
 nable strongholds which stood through many sieges to 
 fall in times of peace; castles whose walls have echoed 
 with the songs of troubadours, for the minstrel was ever 
 welcome in these halls, and from which trains of noble 
 ladies issued through the splendid ruined gateways to 
 visit the rich abbeys endowed by kings, which flourished 
 in the fertile hollows watered by the numerous flowing 
 rivers of this territory. 
 
 The party had no sooner taken their places in the 
 compartment than through Margot and Robinson they 
 gained a friend in the person of an old gentleman, who 
 up to that time had been occupying the carriage quite 
 alone. He would have frowned severely on any other 
 intrusion; but a bright, healthy young woman with a 
 bright, healthy young dog was not to be resisted by 
 an elderly Frenchman of social instincts who had not 
 
 166 
 
Brive 167 
 
 opened his mouth except to yawn since he quitted Paris 
 that morning. The old gentleman's tongue, once loos- 
 ened from its long rest, became even more actire when 
 Richard won his approbation by offering him an Amer- 
 ican cigarette, and Angela Victoria confirmed his liking 
 by saying she enjoyed smoke. 
 
 " Which is not astonishing," he said, politely, " since 
 Monsieur smokes." Angela blushed violently, a trick 
 which always confused her very much, because she con- 
 sidered it juvenile, but which immensely amused the 
 mischievous Margot. 
 
 The old gentleman spoke a little English. He was 
 not at all shy about using it. He grew merrier than 
 any one of them when he made a mistake, and was the 
 first to lead in the laughter. 
 
 La Souterraine, one of the highly interesting stations 
 along their journey, was reached almost before they 
 realised that they had started on their way. It is the 
 curious old mediaaval town, and the name comes from 
 the deep crypt under the big church. Nearly every- 
 thing of interest in the place, the fine old gateway 
 to the citadel, the strange church with its twisted spire, 
 and the great convent, now used as a hospital of some 
 sort, can be seen from the railway. 
 
 The old gentleman, who before this time had con- 
 fided to them ingenuously that he was a citizen of 
 Brive, a native of La Correze, and a director of the 
 railroad on which they were travelling, appreciated the 
 interest they displayed in his pays with a delight equal 
 to that showed by Jean and the chauffeur of Argen- 
 ton the night before. He was quite ready to give 
 
168 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 them all the information in his power. La Souterraine 
 was, according to his judgment, an ancient town well 
 worth seeing if " one made the voyage in an auto- 
 mobile." 
 
 This introduced the subject of roads. Richard 
 Hardy asked about them with deep interest. 
 
 " I have made the trip," said the citizen of Brive, 
 combining French and English with skill and fluency. 
 " The highway is com/me ci contme ca, very hilly in 
 places, but not dangerous, and most interesting." 
 
 He then, like all motorists, began to praise his car. 
 " It is not big, it is not grand. I drive a Richard and 
 it serves my purpose excellently. It has taken me from 
 Limoges to Brive in an hour, although the road between 
 those towns is tres accident^; in other words, moun- 
 tainous." 
 
 The line now began to run through tunnels and 
 to skirt precipitous heights crowned by both ruined 
 and restored chateaux. It then entered a wild valley, 
 through which rushes the stormy little torrent called 
 the Gartempe. High hills, covered thick with deep, 
 dark-serried groves of splendid chestnut trees, which 
 produce the major portion of all the matrons eaten 
 in the world, rise above this stream, which has like- 
 wise been utilised for electrical works. The tunnels 
 now came thick and fast, but the scenery between 
 each was so diversified and lovely that Margot said 
 it made her think of letting down a curtain to sur- 
 prise the audience. The old gentleman entertained them 
 by an amusing narration of the inauguration of the 
 road. He said that when the line had been finished the 
 
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Srive 169 
 
 news was spread over the country, and from far and 
 near the peasants came and camped out in parties on 
 the hills to see the first trains go by. Many had never 
 seen a railroad before in their lives, although this was 
 not so many years ago, seeing that he was a director 
 at that time. They came thirty, forty, even fifty, kilo- 
 metres, bringing with them all the members of their 
 family, grandfathers, grandmothers and babies. The 
 women's caps and the men's costumes were something 
 worth seeing as they all stood up shouting, waiting for 
 the cars to pass. What they expected to see no one 
 was ever quite able to find out, but when the train really 
 came along they all fell on their knees, holding up their 
 hands as though awaiting something. When the cars 
 had passed they looked at one another in amazement. 
 
 " C'est tout? Is that all?" and then, as though 
 something ludicrous had happened, they all fell to 
 laughing uproariously and spread through the villages 
 to enjoy themselves. 
 
 Under the car windows at this point they looked 
 down at the stones over which flowed a limpid, pearly 
 brook. 
 
 " 11 n'y a pas mal de truite, mais je tiens pas beau- 
 coup a, la peche," which, literally translated, is, " There 
 are not there badly of trout, but I do not hold much 
 to fishing." This confession from the mouth of a 
 Frenchman was as extraordinary as the language in 
 which it was couched. He declared himself a devoted 
 follower of " la chasse " and pointed out many of the 
 chateaux he had visited in pursuit of that sport. Before 
 they reached Limoges they passed Ambezac. Beyond 
 
170 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the wild gorge which runs back into the country near 
 this town are some meagre remains of the former great 
 Abbey of Grandmont. The monks of this mediaeval 
 monastery were in high favour with Geoffrey Plantag- 
 enet and his wife, the ex-Empress Matilda, as well as 
 many of the other powerful nobles of the Middle Ages. 
 The abbey was enormously rich in treasures of gold 
 and silver lavished upon it by these princes. At its 
 dissolution in 1772 they were divided among the neigh- 
 bouring churches and monasteries. 
 
 That miserable young king, Henry Court-Mantel, 
 eldest brother of Richard Cceur de Lion, who went 
 about ravaging and stealing everything he could, and 
 who was even a greater curse to these provinces than 
 were his younger brothers, took with his own sacri- 
 legious hands a magnificent golden pyx from the high 
 altar in the Abbey de Grandmont, having in vain tried 
 to find the other treasures which the wily monks had 
 hidden safely at the news of his approach. 
 
 Richard Hardy, seeing that Margot and her elderly 
 admirer were deep in a French conversation that flew 
 so wildly from ancient castles to the dishes eaten by the 
 gourmets of Limoges, and from trout brooks to the 
 comparative merits of hunting dogs and Boston ter- 
 riers, that he, with his slow comprehension of the 
 language, found impossible to follow, seated himself 
 beside A n g e l a Victoria and plunged into specula- 
 tive reminiscences concerning the doings of their pet 
 hero. 
 
 Limousin was one of Cceur de Lion's chief battle- 
 grounds. The bloody feuds, rebellion and intrigue 
 
Brive 171 
 
 from which he was never free kept him busy with battle- 
 axe, fire and sword in this hilly district. Every ruined 
 tower, every crenelated wall, suggested his memory ; yet 
 the talk between Angela and Richard drifted away from 
 deeds of prowess to the softer side of Cceur de Lion's 
 career. It was the singer of siroentes, the player of 
 the lute, the lover of the ladies, of whom Mr. Hardy 
 spoke. " He was as tender as he was rough," said An- 
 gela, leaning dreamily back against the cushion. Her 
 lids were dropped half over her eyes and she talked as 
 if to herself. The sentimental mood was upon her very 
 strongly in this country, where the memoirs of a ro- 
 mantic age are recalled among scenes of entrancing 
 natural beauty. 
 
 " I won't answer for the tenderness," he laughed ; 
 " but his love was quick to grow and flame. How con- 
 stant it was is another question." 
 
 " He had too big a heart," she said, smiling ; " he 
 loved too many, but all very strong men have big 
 hearts." 
 
 " But do all strong men love too many? " 
 
 " I don't know," she said, musingly. " Queen Beren- 
 garia knew more about it than I do." 
 
 " Yet he tumbled all in a heap at her feet when they 
 first met and stopped at nothing until he got her." 
 Mr. Hardy turned suddenly and asked abruptly : " Don't 
 you believe that love at first sight can last? " 
 
 " I have never thought anything about it," she said, 
 slowly. " I don't think I believe in sudden affec- 
 tion." 
 
 " But have you never thought that what you now 
 
172 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 name sudden affection may possibly not be sudden at 
 all, only latent? " 
 
 " Then your faith is the faith of reincarnation." 
 
 " I am as uncertain on that score as you are about 
 love at first sight. Don't shake your head and laugh. 
 From the tone of your voice I know what your faith 
 is." 
 
 Angela woke up and said with energy : " I believe 
 there are people in the world who imagine themselves to 
 be suddenly overwhelmed with such unforeseen passion 
 for a stranger, but I have never yet been brought to 
 believe that such an emotion was love as I understand 
 it." 
 
 " What do you understand by love? " 
 
 He asked the question earnestly, lowering his voice 
 slightly as he glanced toward the chattering Margot 
 and the amused, absorbed old gentleman. 
 
 Angela Victoria caught the glance and hesitated, 
 like a flash, the determination entered her spirit to 
 break up the travelling party so far as Mr. Hardy 
 was concerned. Margot's mother and father might, 
 as the girl had expressed it, " adore Richard Hardy," 
 but she, Angela Victoria Cheney, did not propose to 
 be the means of encouraging a match between a pair 
 so unequal in point of age. 
 
 Richard Hardy was still looking at her face with a 
 quizzical expression in his eye, waiting for an answer 
 and little suspecting where and how her thoughts were 
 wandering, when again the train ran into the darkness 
 and the old gentleman turned to him and explained: 
 
 " We are now beneath Limoges." 
 
Hrvoe 17S 
 
 " Under Limoges in a tunnel ! Don't we see the 
 city at all? " cried Margot, disappointed. 
 
 "If I had foreseen this little journey, chere Made- 
 moiselle," said the gallant old gentleman, " as director 
 I should have voted that the railroad pass all the prin- 
 cipal monuments of the city." 
 
 Beyond Limoges, despite the many tunnels, the jour- 
 ney grows constantly more interesting. The conversa- 
 tion had become general, and the old gentleman proved 
 himself as interested in mediaeval history as anyone in 
 the carriage. 
 
 " You should stay long in this country and explore 
 it fully. We are very proud of it "nous autres." 
 
 " Was it not near Limoges that Richard Cceur de 
 Lion came to his death? " 
 
 " Ah, yes, Madame. It was at Chalus-Chabrol that 
 the poisoned arrow ' met him.' A most interesting 
 place. It is to the west of us here, on a branch road 
 between Limoges and Angouleme. A most inspiring 
 village for artists ! There are two castles not so badly 
 ruined and a lot of irregular old houses piled up among 
 trees below them on the hill. The flowers and the vines 
 have buried all remembrances of siege and assault, and 
 a tumbling brook turns the wheel of an old water mill 
 within sight of the very spot where that vieu lion 
 rageaux Richard got his final wound. It is a little 
 out of the way. But why do you not stop at Uzerche? 
 Few foreigners visit it. It is a queer old town ; I am 
 sure you would enjoy it. You cannot see it from the 
 railroad, but if you choose you can stop there now and 
 reach Brive by a later train in time for dinner. The 
 
174 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 ancient houses are very well worth seeing. We say in 
 this pays, 'Who has a house in Uzerche has a 
 castle in Limousin.' It is full of twelfth-century 
 streets." 
 
 " Come on, Cousin Angela ; let us see Uzerche ! What 
 a blessing we have a man with us ! We can do anything 
 with a man along, can't we, Mr. Hardy? Oh, thank 
 you so much, Monsieur! Of course we must stop. I 
 am travelling expressly to see queer towns, and so is 
 Robinson ! " 
 
 The old gentleman laughed merrily at the young 
 girl's light humour. 
 
 " Eh bienl It gives me great pain to lose you, but 
 I can't retract my advice. I will earn your gratitude. 
 Besides," he said, slyly, " I am to get out there, too. 
 Are you to go to the Hotel de Bordeaux, in Brive, 
 Monsieur?" he said in English to Mr. Hardy. "I 
 know the proprietor well and can promise that you will 
 be comfortable." 
 
 The train began to slow up as Richard Hardy care- 
 lessly answered " Yes " to the foregoing question. He 
 had either not understood or paid any attention to the 
 preceding words of the old gentleman, and was there- 
 fore much surprised when Margot began to tuck Rob- 
 inson under her arm and to hand him the bags. 
 
 " This is not Brive, is it? " 
 
 " No, but there is something to see here. We are 
 going to get out and stop over a train." Whereat he 
 quietly went about taking down the wraps, as if he were 
 their courier. 
 
 Angela decided that her reign as a leader was over 
 
Brive 175 
 
 for to-day. She allowed herself to be gently lifted out 
 of the uncomfortable high railway carriage by Mr. 
 Hardy; they parted from the old gentleman, who got 
 into a vehicle waiting for him, with many expressions of 
 gratitude and regret on both sides, and took the omni- 
 bus for the town. 
 
 Uzerche is half a mile or more from the station. 
 They took a short cut through a tunnel about one hun- 
 dred yards long which led directly up into the hilly 
 streets of the unique town. The place, as the old gen- 
 tleman said, was well worth seeing. It stands on a 
 promontory, with the river doubling around the point; 
 the old walls and ancient gates encircle streets full of 
 interesting houses topped with numerous pignons, like 
 candle extinguishers. At the point of the conical hill 
 whereon the town has grown stands a fine church. 
 Uzerche has two chateaux ; one is now used for a girls' 
 school, but the story of the place is but that of a day 
 in the life of Henry Court-Mantel, young King of 
 England, who, though crowned while his father, Henry 
 II., lived, was destined never to reign or to have any 
 real power. He kept all of Aquitaine in a constant 
 state of turmoil during his short life by his bickerings 
 with his brothers and his senseless rebellion against his 
 father's will. The people of Limoges detested this 
 young king; when he tried to re-enter their city the 
 inhabitants met him with volleys of stones, shouting: 
 " We will not have this man to reign over us ! He shall 
 no longer have our money and treasure ! " and they 
 drove him forth. 
 
 It was then he fell ill, and, weary and ailing with 
 
176 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the effects of his own passions, came to linger in 
 Uzerche while waiting for the Duke of Burgundy and 
 the Count of Toulouse to join him. He then took his 
 turbulent person south to Rocamadour, where, ill though 
 he was, he pillaged and wasted the town and the sanc- 
 tuary and returned northward to Martel, near Brive; 
 there to die. 
 
 " I shouldn't mind stopping a week in Uzerche at 
 all, Cousin Angela. The hotel looked very clean," said 
 Margot. 
 
 " Hear the child ! " exclaimed her cousin. " She 
 thinks we have months instead of days before we are 
 to join Georgina!" 
 
 " It's a pity you have not," said Richard. " This 
 part of France is not only full of beauty, but it takes 
 such a powerful hold upon my imagination that " — 
 he looked laughingly at Angela Victoria — " it quite 
 turns the tide in favour of reincarnation. I should like 
 to believe I had once lived here in the rough ages 
 myself." 
 
 Margot laughed aloud. " I don't believe you would 
 have liked it a bit. But then, if you must choose some 
 old creature as your former self, why not select the 
 mighty Richard? He had the same name." 
 
 " Thank you very much. Perhaps I will, and choose 
 Robinson as the pet lion I brought with me when I 
 returned from the far-off East. To be sure, he fawns 
 and jumps and pretends he is only a dog, but he has 
 the spirit of a wild beast at times, particularly when 
 there is a bone about." 
 
Brive 177 
 
 " I didn't know Richard had a lion," said Margot, 
 " and, anyway, he shan't insult my darling lamb of a 
 Robinson by calling him a wild beast." 
 
 "There are a great many things you don't know. 
 You don't know you were shut up in a castle and bored 
 to death until I walked up close, as brash and brave 
 as you please, and knocked it down like that one." He 
 pointed to a ruin near Allasac. 
 
 From the carriage window Angela looked up at the 
 machicolations in the floor of the projecting gallery, 
 where the great holes were left for the besieged to 
 pour down missiles upon the foe. 
 
 " Were you not afraid of the boiling oil? " 
 
 " I was afraid of nothing, not even of the women. 
 Not even of Margot, and she was always a pretty dan- 
 gerous person." 
 
 The young lady in question tossed her head without 
 deigning to answer; instead she began piling her ci- 
 devant knight's lap full of travelling bags. 
 
 " I will take care of the lion, poor despised lion, and 
 when we get out of this surging mob he will take care 
 of himself," she said, and clambered down with Robin- 
 son into the dense crowd swarming the platform of the 
 station at Brive. 
 
 Richard Hardy took all the bags he could hold in 
 one hand and unceremoniously linked Angela's arm with 
 the other. " I can't afford to lose your opinion that a 
 man is a useful travelling companion," he said. 
 
 Angela did not see fit to answer, but that had been 
 Margot's expressed opinion, not hers. The young girl 
 and Robinson were waiting at the sortie. 
 
178 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " The personal conductor is needed here to give up 
 the tickets." 
 
 " What trouble these French methods do make. Must 
 I drop all my traps and fish out the tickets? " 
 
 " Tell me where they are," laughed Margot, " and I 
 will fish them> out." But he had already found them, 
 and, merrily joking with one another, they found the 
 hotel 'bus, in which one passenger was already seated. 
 The driver had gone for the voluminous and heavy lug- 
 gage belonging to this man, whom, to judge by the 
 size of his trunk, was a commercial traveller; so Mar- 
 got and the Hon, abas Robinson, trotted up and down 
 while waiting and made warm friends with a donkey 
 attached to a little car. 
 
 The man who was the additional passenger was very 
 much of a dandy after the French fashion. He glanced 
 at the blooming Margot, turned up his weak moustache 
 into what he considered an irresistible curl, and then, 
 perfectly satisfied with that last touch to his personal 
 charms, opened a pen-knife and proceeded to pare his 
 nails, glancing up occasionally from that occupation 
 to cast sheep's eyes at the highly amused young 
 lady. 
 
 " Cousin Angela ! Wasn't it amusing to think the 
 landlord took you for Mr. Hardy's wife? " 
 
 " I didn't find it amusing at all. I was thankful it 
 happened when he had gone into the bureau. It 
 serves me right. I should not allow a man to trail 
 around with us, even to please you ! " 
 
 "Why, Cousin Angela, you are cross! I thought 
 
Urine 179 
 
 you were never cross." Angela Victoria, usually so 
 amiable, was this time distinctly out of humour. She 
 went soberly on, changing her gown for dinner, and 
 looked so serious that Margot thought it wiser to pur- 
 sue the delicate subject no further. So instead of 
 teasing she said: 
 
 " Isn't this a delightfully funny old hotel? Such a 
 perfect combination of the old and the new. Outside 
 staircases, narrow, curious halls, yet with such com- 
 fortable-looking modern beds, not to mention electricity 
 and really generous wash-stands. I wish it was warm 
 enough to eat in the garden," she sighed. " You haven't 
 seen the garden. It is very nice; the scent of the 
 flowers is simply delicious, the birds are trilling away 
 like a whole chorus of opera singers — no, I don't mean 
 opera singers ; I mean something better than that. 
 Never mind what I do mean. I can't think of a simile 
 myself. Anyway, they are very obliging with their 
 music, and the twilight is so bright, and nobody to be 
 benefited by it except Robinson. Mr. Hardy says it 
 is too damp and cold for us to sit out under the 
 trees." 
 
 " Of course, if Mr. Hardy says so, we cannot go," 
 said Angela, with dignity. 
 
 So only the four-legged member of the party en- 
 joyed the fresh fragrance of the spring flowers. He 
 stood outside the window, as near to his mistress' table 
 as possible. The hotel dog — there is always a hotel dog 
 in France — was this time an amiable old setter who was 
 trying to be hospitable and was at least ten times Rob- 
 inson's size. He had accompanied the new arrival to 
 
180 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the garden and lay stretched on the ground behind him, 
 endeavouring to be as polite as possible; but Robinson 
 rudely turned his back and discouraged all advances. 
 He had eyes only for the humans. 
 
 "What do you say to a stroll by moonlight?" said 
 Mr. Hardy. " Margot is still angry because I would 
 not let her take cold by eating in the garden." 
 
 Angela Victoria said politely and as amiably as pos- 
 sible under the circumstances : " Are you responsible 
 for Margot's health? " 
 
 "I think I am in a measure," answered Richard 
 Hardy, coolly. 
 
 There was no more to be said. 
 
 " Oh, do let us go, Cousin Angela ! I am always 
 begging to go somewhere. We might have our coffee 
 at some little cafe in the town. Couldn't we, Mr. 
 Hardy?" 
 
 " I think it is quite possible to find one," he said, 
 with a smile, " and we shan't have much time to see 
 this place to-morrow morning if we start out early, as 
 your cousin proposes to do." 
 
 Angela made some feeble objection to the plan, but 
 it was impossible for her either to be harsh with Mar- 
 got or to deprive herself of the pleasure of a stroll 
 before bedtime. 
 
 Brive never looks more picturesque than by moon- 
 light. It is a town quite safe to recommend as a 
 centre for excursions. The region about is delightful 
 and its own fascinations will not absorb much time or 
 attention. There are wide boulevards shaded with elms 
 and with beech trees; comfortable houses in pleasant 
 
Brive 181 
 
 gardens ; a universal air of prosperity ; a broad canal 
 bordered with plantations of lilacs and magnolias, and 
 in some of the more interesting crooked old streets a 
 few enticing antiquity shops. As the little party, with 
 Robinson and his friend, the hotel setter, in close at- 
 tendance, strolled about, it all looked very serene and 
 the air was heavy with the fragrance of the gardens 
 flooded with the light of the growing moon. 
 
 " Oh, I wish I could have some ice-cream soda ! " 
 
 " Oh, Margot ! " exclaimed Angela, in horror. 
 
 Mr. Hardy grinned. " That's right, Margot. Wave 
 the American flag! And hold fast to your thirst. I 
 will give you all the ice-cream soda we can find in 
 Marseilles ! " 
 
 " I am afraid you will have to wait longer than that." 
 Angela's tone sounded very quiet and chilly. " I doubt 
 if we stop in Marseilles." 
 
 " Cousin Angela, we just have to go to Marseilles. 
 You are tired now; we'll talk about that later." Mar- 
 got made such a funny face and put on such ridiculous 
 airs that Angela could not help laughing. " Go up- 
 stairs and I will help Mr. Hardy loosen his French 
 tongue and struggle with the landlord's English. Un- 
 less I do we shall never discover how or when we can 
 get away from here. They will tie us up in some hard 
 knot, and if I must be left high and dry I prefer a 
 more entertaining city than Brive. Don't you? " 
 
 Angela Victoria had found the little town very pleas- 
 ant that evening. She said so. 
 
 " Oh, yes," Margot went on, " it was mildly pleas- 
 ant, but how can one like a dull, little commonplace 
 
182 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 provincial city after the deliciously entrancing Ar- 
 genton ? " 
 
 " My dear Mar got! how can you judge of the dul- 
 ness or interest of this town after stumbling around a 
 few streets in the dark? " 
 
 Margot was not afraid to judge anything, but she 
 laughed and skipped across the court into the cosy 
 office of the hotel to help untangle the difficulties into 
 which Richard and the landlord would be sure to plunge 
 when they talked about morning trains and the best way 
 to pursue the journey to Rocamadour. 
 
 Angela was still busy unpacking and repacking her 
 small trunk when Margot came upstairs. She was try- 
 ing to make place for some old brass she had found in 
 a queer shop that was still open when they went out 
 that evening. She never longed for Georgina so much 
 at any time as when she tried to pack into her trunk 
 articles which she had foolishly bought and were too 
 big for the place she had to give them. Georgina 
 frowned severely upon the reckless expenditure of 
 money; still, if in spite of her remonstrances her sister 
 was extravagant, she displayed a veritable talent little 
 short of genius for tucking away such purchases where 
 they would be safe from damage without wrinkling 
 every garment in their vicinity. Angela had no such 
 skill, and consequently her arms were usually laden 
 down with packages she knew not what to do with. 
 Georgina absolutely refused to travel with one extra 
 bundle. Angela Victoria always accumulated a dozen 
 or more in the course of a short journey. 
 
 The entire contents of her trunk were spread on 
 
Brive 183 
 
 the bed when Margot entered. " Why, Cousin Angela, 
 what are you trying to do? " 
 
 Angela sat down with despair on her countenance. 
 
 " Tell me first," she said, " when we are to start? " 
 
 " We must take the train at eight if we want to 
 see anything of Rocamadour, and go on the same 
 day. The landlord says we are to have ' une promenade 
 ravissante ' on the railroad. I wish we could motor 
 there. I would be willing to ride in any kind of a 
 car. I would even go in a scroot, if necessary." 
 
 " What in the world is a scroot, Margot? " 
 
 " It is only my name for one of those nasty little, 
 smelly, noisy, ancient automobiles that go shaking past 
 our country place at home. I stole the word from 
 papa. It is what he calls a ragged little cur, just 
 plain dog. My scroot is just plain ragged motor, with- 
 out fancy trimmings." 
 
 " I think, my dear, I prefer the landlord's sugges- 
 tion of a comfortable train. I have changed my ideas 
 about the delights of motoring." 
 
 " Oh, have you! When did you do that? You will 
 have to reform, dear Cousin Angela, for my sake, be- 
 cause Mr. Hardy says he means to bring us all here 
 some day in the best car he can find, and to visit every 
 town in this neighbourhood. He and the landlord are 
 talking gibberish about it this very minute. I left 
 them because my tongue got tired trying to translate 
 while they both went on talking together all the time. 
 How could I make them understand one another? 
 I wish Richard Hardy wouldn't leave us to-mor- 
 row." 
 
184 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Angela did not answer immediately ; she went to the 
 bed and began to fold the clothes lying there. 
 
 " Is he going to leave to-morrow? " she said, coolly. 
 
 " Well, I don't know ! He only said he would cut 
 off somewhere else if you didn't want him to keep on 
 with us any lunger. But you do want him to go with 
 us to-morrow. I told him so." 
 
 " Margot, how can you say such things? I said I 
 did not think it was right to let him tag along with 
 us. I don't think it is proper." 
 
 " Proper ! I didn't know you were so awfully proper, 
 you dear old cousin ! " 
 
 Angela suddenly rebelled against an expression that 
 Margot had long used unreproved and which in 
 the young girl's mind did not signify the weight of 
 years. Robinson, aged three, was " a dear old dog " 
 to her. She went on : "I don't see why you feel that 
 way. Mamma thinks it is delightful that he is with us ! 
 I have just got a postal card from her. It came 
 while we were gone. I wrote her the minute we met 
 him." 
 
 " I do not think your mother uses her best judgment. 
 Of course, for your sake, I tolerate him." 
 
 " Tolerate him ! And he is so nice ! And he has 
 loved me so many years ! And mamma idolises him ! " 
 all of which Angela had heard before in other words. 
 " Well, if you tolerate him now, you will adore him be- 
 fore our journey's end, so he shan't go away." 
 
 " I wish you would not use such exaggerated phrases, 
 Margot. We cannot, of course, prevent him coming 
 our way. The road is free to everyone who pays." 
 
Brive 185 
 
 " I am glad it is. Of course we can't prevent his 
 coming, and I don't want to." 
 
 Angela was annoyed to a point which prevented her 
 sleeping very well that night; nevertheless, such was 
 her temperament that she arose smiling, serene, and 
 apparently very amiable the next morning. Margot 
 threw her arms around her cousin's neck and kissed her 
 so enthusiastically that Robinson was impelled likewise 
 to join in the demonstration. 
 
 The packing had not been entirely successful. She 
 had managed to find a place for the brass among her 
 frocks, but several small boxes and a portfolio had 
 found no resting place in her trunk. Margot looked 
 at them as they lay on the table. 
 
 " Don't you want me to take care of those things, 
 Cousin Angela? They are not valuable, are they? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said Angela, absentmindedly ; " they are 
 nothing but some papers." 
 
 " Well, give them here. I will get rid of them," 
 said Margot, as she gathered up everything lying 
 loose. 
 
 Angela went down to breakfast. Coffee was served 
 in the garden. The bright morning sunlight had re- 
 moved the objection of chill and dampness, and although 
 the loquacious waiter lamented at length on the abom- 
 inable weather and the late spring, the birds and the 
 flowers did everything in their power to compensate 
 them for these disadvantages. 
 
 Brive looked peaceful, and even picturesque, as they 
 jolted along in the 'bus on its way to the gare. Market 
 women were coming into town with the smallest donkeys 
 
186 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 they had yet seen, harnessed into little waggons, full of 
 appetising vegetables and potted plants. The milkmen, 
 with little carts full of shining brass cans, were going 
 their rounds, stopping at the gates of comfortable, 
 roomy houses. 
 
 " I wish I could have one of those bright jars as a 
 souvenir from Brive," said Margot. 
 
 " And how would it do to take a good-looking milk- 
 man along to carry it for you? " asked Richard. 
 
 " No, thank you. I'll leave him, blue cap and all, 
 for someone who likes him better," laughed Margot. 
 " Just give me his battered brass can." 
 
 The station at that early hour was nearly deserted. 
 A pretty, fresh-looking woman with grey hair, who 
 was the proprietress of the news-stand, greeted them 
 with such amiability that Richard bought of her not 
 only sufficient local literature to furnish reading matter 
 for several weeks, but also a bundle of postal cards and 
 three indelible pencils to forward impressions de voyage 
 to absent friends. 
 
 Angela Victoria wrote a line to Georgina, before the 
 train started, on a card ornamented by a view of the 
 canal : 
 
 " Am getting on delightfully. Find Margot a 
 great help. Brive is a beautiful city." 
 
 Margot scribbled all over a picture of women wash- 
 ing in the river and sent the following off to her 
 mother: 
 
 " Brive is a stupid little hole, but the hotel is 
 good. We are just starting for a better place. 
 Cousin Angela is a sweet thing, but she doesn't like 
 
Brive 187 
 
 Richard Hardy. Isn't it strange? Robinson sends a 
 snap to Flou-Flou. M." 
 
 Richard wrote a greeting to Monsieur and Madame 
 de Sayes. 
 
 The steeples of Brive had hardly disappeared below 
 the horizon before the two heavy towers and the great 
 donjon of the ruined castle of Turenne stood out from 
 a background of deep blue sky. This castle fell before 
 the levelling hand of revolutionary bands. No more 
 important stronghold in olden times existed in the prov- 
 ince, and its vicomtes were princes in the land. 
 
 " This must have been a gay neighbourhood for you 
 and me when we were living in the Middle Ages," said 
 Margot to Richard. " The whole territory is peppered 
 with castles. That boredom you spoke of yesterday 
 could not have been caused by lack of society." 
 
 " But you fail to realise, my dear young lady, that 
 there was some difference between travelling at railroad 
 speed and picking one's way over bad roads on slow- 
 going horses. I don't believe that dinner parties and 
 junketings were altogether the rage in this neighbour- 
 hood when we last visited it." 
 
 " I love riding so much that I am sure I must have 
 acquired the taste when I lived around here." 
 
 With the guide book Richard had just bought in one 
 hand and making magnificent gestures with the other, 
 she pointed out the numberless ruins dotting the land- 
 scape and showing their pitiful jagged skeletons on 
 every elevation. 
 
 " Here, facing Turenne, is the Chateau de Linoire. 
 On the left you see the castle of Cavagnac, dating 
 
188 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 from the thirteenth century. That restored affair on 
 the right is the Chateau de Croze; it did not exist in 
 my time. The people are regular parvenus, nobles of 
 the sixteenth century." 
 
 " Oh, we never could have known them ! " exclaimed 
 Richard, with contempt; "could we, Miss Angela? 
 For, of course, you were one of the chatelaines of this 
 neighbourhood as well." 
 
 Their nonsense was interrupted by their arrival at 
 the station of Martel, and there the conversation turned 
 solely toward that interesting but exceedingly wicked 
 young prince, Henry Court-Mantel. It was here the 
 young king died. His old father, Henry II., held the 
 sceptre and the revenues, and held them very tight; but 
 when his unworthy son, the youthful monarch, although 
 burning up with fever, his strength failing, still went 
 ravaging about Aquitaine, pillaging churches and steal- 
 ing from the people, the old king tried by force to stay 
 his progress. Young Henry came to Martel from 
 Rocamadour, where he had emptied the sacred treasury 
 of all the thank offerings bestowed upon the sanctuary 
 by generations of grateful princes. He was stricken 
 down at this little town in a house which is pointed out 
 near the present Hotel de Ville. No sooner did he feel 
 the hand of death upon him than he plunged into the 
 futile business of a deathbed repentance, after the most 
 approved manner of the twelfth century. He sent 
 messages of affection to his father, praying the old 
 king to come to him. But that wily potentate did not 
 trust his fascinating son. He had played too many 
 miserable tricks on his father. The sovereign, there- 
 
Brive 189 
 
 fore, sent off a bishop whom he felt he could spare with 
 forgiveness and a precious ring to bestow upon the dying 
 prince. For once, young Henry was not shamming. 
 He confessed his sins aloud in the presence of his re- 
 tainers, ordered his attendants to clothe him in a hair 
 shirt, and, holding in his hand the ring he had received 
 from his father, he was by his own orders dragged out 
 of bed by a rope fastened around his neck and left to die 
 on a bed of ashes. 
 
 " I don't think I am as crazy about the Middle Ages 
 as I was before you read that bit of history. But look 
 out ! Do ! Here is something to make us glad we are 
 living right now." 
 
 The strong little locomotive dragging its light train 
 Was puffing and pulling laboriously up the path cut 
 for it along the side of the rugged hills, from the fer- 
 tile plains of La Correze to the sterile plateau of Les 
 Causes. The road makes a circuit on the flank of the 
 craggy mountains, ascending perpetually, while below 
 lies the immense circus of rich, productive land through 
 which flows a tranquil river bordered by the never- 
 failing poplar and dotted with pretty villages and 
 thriving farms. 
 
 The chateaux of Floriac and of Mirandol hang on 
 savage cliffs above the Dordogne. Across the plain is 
 the rough, natural fortress, where behind the primeval 
 rocks the Gauls made their last stand against the in- 
 vading Romans. All the way up the precipitous route 
 flowers grow in abundance, and great bunches of 
 royal-looking iris and a profusion of bright broom 
 cling to the hillside among the rough grey crags. On 
 
190 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 reaching the summit of the pass where stands the iso- 
 lated station of Montvalent, the trains in following the 
 ascent look like giant black earth worms slowly crawl- 
 ing up a granite wall. 
 
 Handsome peasants with lively dark eyes shining 
 from under their rakish big flat blue caps were loung- 
 ing about the desolate gare. The train left them idly 
 gazing, and the engine, with a high,' piping whistle, 
 went diving into a region among savage fields, on which 
 were lying, strewn thick as leaves in autumn, stones and 
 pebbles of every size. 
 
 Margot, thinking they were a strange sort of flower, 
 exclaimed with pleasure. The sheep, in large flocks, 
 looking fat and healthy, were apparently eating the 
 grass which grew in these extraordinary fields with 
 greedy delight. This strange high moorland, " Les 
 Causes de Gramat," extends for leagues on these 
 uplands. 
 
 " Isn't it wonderful ! " cried both Angela and Mar- 
 got again and again, until even Robinson was moved 
 to raise himself on his hind paws and look out of the 
 tiny side window, but seeing only stupid nibbling sheep 
 he lay down again with a growl and a sigh at the 
 strange fancies of his adored mistress. 
 
 From the remarkable soil of these moors spring 
 forests of sickly looking oak trees, but in the meagre 
 shade they afford lies hidden the wealth of the district — 
 the highly prized truffle. 
 
# 
 
 Chapter VII 
 
 EOCAMADOUE 
 
 ROC-AMADOUR! " called out the conductor at a 
 dreary station on a barren plain. They looked about 
 the lonely fields. 
 
 " The supply of stones is still with us," said Rich- 
 ard, " but where is our wonderful shrine? " 
 
 " Follow those people ; they must be pilgrims, and 
 we shall find it," said Margot. " They all seem to be 
 getting into the omnibuses." 
 
 A line of shabby vehicles labelled " Hotel St. Marie," 
 "Le Lion d'Or," " Au Grand Soleil," " des Templiers " 
 and " Notre Dame " were drawn up at the desolate 
 gare, and as five of them had a proportion of at least 
 three passengers each, Angela and her friends took the 
 remaining vacant waggonette. Robinson, after having 
 carefully examined both driver and horses and expressed 
 his satisfaction in his own way, was called by his owner 
 to spread his small person over as much space as pos- 
 sible and keep out a mother and child who were fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 " I should have died," said Margot, when the horses 
 started, " if that woman and her terrible child had 
 come with us." 
 
 "Why, Margot! How cruel! The poor child was 
 horribly afflicted with those frightful sores. One side 
 
 191 
 
192 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 of the unfortunate baby's face was so pretty, and 
 her skin and cheeks so soft and clear ! It was pitiable ! 
 It excited all my sympathy." 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry for her, but I couldn't bear to 
 look at her ! " insisted Margot. 
 
 " Perhaps the mother hopes to have her child cured 
 by a miracle," said Angela. 
 
 " The Age of Miracles has passed, and the Age of 
 Cleanliness is here. That woman doesn't seem to know 
 it. She is very well dressed, but did you see her 
 hands ? " said Margot. 
 
 " Oh, let's dismiss that subject and look at the land- 
 scape. Where do you suppose Rock-amadour, as the 
 guard pronounced it, has hidden itself? " 
 
 "Why, this country is nothing but a garden of 
 • stones ! How the farmers have toiled to grow these 
 crops! They seem to promise well." 
 
 " And the stone fences look just like New England. 
 Are you or are you not on your native heath, Cousin 
 Angela? " 
 
 After two miles of uninteresting road they finally 
 stopped at an antiquated little collection of houses, 
 where some of the rickety omnibuses were discharging 
 their passengers. 
 
 " Is this Rocamadour? " asked Margot, in disgusted 
 tones, of the driver. 
 
 " Eh non! Mademoiselle! " answered the man, echoing 
 the contempt in her voice. " Those men and women who 
 got out are going to walk over the hill to save a sou 
 or two. Nous autres, we will ride." 
 
 Nous autres referred to himself and Robinson, who 
 
ROCAMADOUR 
 
 FROM THE CAHORS ROAD 
 
Rocamadour 193 
 
 had pulled his four legs over the barrier between the 
 coachman and his friends and was encouraging the 
 slow-going nags from time to time in his own harsh, 
 peculiar way, a proceeding denounced by his owner as 
 " loud, rude barks." 
 
 L'Hospitalet, where the first halt had been made, in 
 ancient times was a shelter for poor pilgrims visiting 
 the sanctuary and where hospitality was free. 
 
 The shaky little waggonette went on to the top of a 
 plateau, from which the road falls suddenly down the 
 side of a long hill into a narrow winding valley. Roc- 
 amadour, a mass of towers, battlements, turrets and 
 spires thrown against the side of a precipice, here 
 bursts suddenly, theatrically upon the view, clinging 
 like a nest on the crags above this deep, winding gulf 
 of green. 
 
 The surprise, the wonder and the impressiveness of 
 this spectacle is greatly enhanced by the dull, common- 
 place approach to the brow of the hill, where abruptly 
 the earth opens, as it were, and reveals the unexpected 
 panorama of a wild, unique gorge, with a little town 
 hanging among the boulders on the rocky side of the 
 valley. 
 
 Legends obscure the foundation of this place of pil- 
 grimage. Tradition has it that Zaccheus the Publican, 
 he who mounted the sycamore tree to watch Christ 
 pass, retired to this wilderness after the Crucifixion, 
 and, becoming an Anchorite, passed his life in one of 
 these many caves burrowing the mountainside, where 
 now the sanctuaries are erected. It was a perfect morn- 
 ing on which to see Rocamadour for the first time. 
 
194 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Clouds as soft as down were floating in a sky shading 
 down from a soft turquoise blue to delicate amber as 
 it neared the horizon. The tiny River Alzou trickles be- 
 tween marshy banks, like emerald velvet ; the rude rocks 
 of the hills are streaked with strong black lines, as 
 if they had been daubed by mischievous, playful giants. 
 Small trees and meagre turf find little to nourish their 
 roots in the soil of the precipitous uplands, but their 
 soft colouring fitted the landscape, and bold wild flowers 
 dared to dress in orange, pink and purple to brighten 
 the dull crags. 
 
 The road to Cahors winds through the narrow ravine 
 like a curling yellow serpent, until it is lost to sight 
 among the hills. The 'bus jolted down the zigzagging 
 approach to the village and entered it under a gate of 
 the former fortifications. The inhabitants came out 
 of their crumbling houses into the one narrow, muddy 
 street to see the visitors roll past, the children point- 
 ing with amusement at Robinson's sober bull face, and 
 the grown-ups smiling at his friends. The omnibus 
 came to a halt at the foot of an immense flight of steps 
 leading to a pile of noble buildings, which appeared to 
 be clinging to the sides of a sheer precipice. 
 
 Angela's eyes glowed; her imagination could roam 
 here in Middle-Age splendour without an effort. 
 
 " I will now ascend the heights with my lion," said 
 Richard, seriously. " We will cautiously enter the 
 bourg." The Hon was already half way up to the stone 
 platform above, and Richard had to resort to the un- 
 dignified expedient of taking two steps at a time to 
 catch up with him. With his long legs he soon reached 
 
Rocamadour 195 
 
 the top, but Angela and Margot stopped every few 
 minutes to look down into the solitary street of the 
 village beneath them, where a long line of houses with 
 an ancient fortified gateway at either end curved around 
 the base of the rock. 
 
 The outer row of dwellings still hangs over what 
 was once the city wall, rising abruptly from the little 
 curving River Alzou. The long flight of stone steps 
 leads to a terrace cut in the rock, where a shop, the 
 Hotel St. Marie and a few houses are plastered against 
 the precipice. The place looks like an old fortress 
 turned to sacred uses, but as long ago as when Charle- 
 magne ruled France it was a sanctuary and a place of 
 pilgrimage. Through a narrow fortified passage on 
 that terrace more steps lead to another natural rock 
 shelf higher up. Here the sanctuaries are built in the 
 virgin rock. The inner court of a beautiful mediaeval 
 chateau must have looked very much like that bit of 
 Rocamadour, and it did not need much imagination on 
 Angela's part to transform the gentle nun, who, 
 within a picturesque shop, sells rosaries and " objects 
 pieux," into a noble lady in the costume of early 
 France. 
 
 The holy lady and a boy lolling on the steps wearing 
 a broad Basque cap shading his handsome face were the 
 only persons about when the party entered this court. 
 All the other booths, like martins' nests clinging to the 
 walls, were closed tight. The first of May was clearly 
 not the season for pilgrims. Richard and his lion 
 made friends with the modest young shopkeeping 
 nun in the most substantial way. Richard purchased 
 
196 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 samples from the pretty nun of all the wares she 
 offered him. Robinson got a tiny copy of Durandal, 
 the sword of Roland, to ornament his collar. 
 
 " Here are candles to burn that our wishes and 
 prayers may be granted," said Richard, handing over 
 a bunch of tapers. " I will keep one for myself. A 
 single wish granted can make me happy." 
 
 " Only one? " asked Margot, mischievously, giving 
 back the smile he sent her. " I'll take a dozen, and 
 Cousin Angela wants at least five to wish back to life 
 each one of her old heroes." 
 
 V If any one of those gentlemen should appear as 
 he really was," remarked Richard, " I think she would 
 take flight to something more modern." 
 
 But Angela tossed her head. Dead heroes would do 
 for her! She took her candles and went up a few 
 more steps to another platform, where in a shallow 
 cave is the tomb of St. Amadour protected by a grille. 
 Near it is the great iron-bound chest which held the 
 rich offerings made by royal pilgrims in the Middle 
 Ages. Thrust into a cleft in the rock is a copy of 
 the mighty sword of the Paladin Roland, Durandal. 
 Henry Court-Mantel stole the original and left his 
 own worthless blade in its place. 
 
 Opposite the iron-bound chest on this platform they 
 entered La Chapelle Miraculeuse through a graceful 
 Gothic portal adorned with exquisitely sculptured cab- 
 bage-leaf decorations. Behind the fifteenth-century 
 facade is a chapel dug out of the living rock, where the 
 strange little black Virgin, rudely hewn from the trunk 
 of a tree by St. Amadour, is enthroned. It was before 
 
Rocamadour 197 
 
 this image that Henry II. went to make his vow of 
 reconciliation with Becket. 
 
 Into the rough cavern half filled with jutting rock 
 Angela reverently carried her candle and her prayer. 
 The rugged walls are black with incense and the smoke 
 of torches and tapers. Hundreds of little marble tab- 
 lets, thank-offerings to the Virgin, inscribed with grate- 
 ful words in gilt letters, line the walls of this chapel 
 in many places, completely concealing the grey rock. 
 Among them is one which was placed in the sanctuary 
 by Monsieur and Madame de la Mothe-Fenelon to 
 commemorate the recovery of their infant son, the 
 future Archbishop Cambrai, who was cured through 
 the intercession of this virgin. 
 
 Margot gazed at this little tablet with profound 
 interest. 
 
 " Saved that I might be bored by Telemaque ! " she 
 muttered. 
 
 Richard Hardy smiled a wicked smile. 
 
 " I don't think I enjoyed Telemaque very much 
 either," gently said Angela, " but he was a great man 
 — I mean Fenelon." 
 
 " My only acquaintance with his greatness is through 
 that mild young gentleman who talked such perfect 
 French," said Margot solemnly. 
 
 The miraculous image, clad in tinselled robes and 
 elevated on a jewelled altar, recalls the past centuries. 
 The tawdriness of the hangings and brilliancy of the 
 gilt is softened by the hand of dingy antiquity. 
 
 On the jutting rock at the back of the chapel hang 
 some rusty, heavy manacles, offered to Our Lady of 
 
198 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Rocamadour by prisoners who had been released 
 through her intercession, or escaped by her aid. Rich- 
 ard and Margot scoffed at the weighty fetters. 
 
 " If a man managed to get such irons off, I don't 
 believe he could run far with such a load in his pocket 
 without being, speedily caught." 
 
 But Angela had supreme faith. 
 
 Robinson, like a sensible dog, had kept out of the 
 chapel, and spent his valuable time exchanging views 
 with one of his own kind, a worthy protector of this 
 holy citadel. 
 
 A flight of steps descended from this platform to the 
 inner court, where the picturesque nun still smiled at 
 them from her romantic little shop. Here they entered 
 the large church of St. Sauveur. The supposed por- 
 traits of St. Louis, Robert d'Artois, Charles of Anjou, 
 Alphonse de Poitiers, Alphonse de Bologne, who came 
 here in 1245, their crude colours softened charitably by 
 the dim religious light, are frescoed on the walls. Louis 
 XI., the superstitious monster who neglected no mirac- 
 ulous image, is also portayed here, with the date 1463, 
 the time when he visited the shrine. 
 
 " He probably crawled up all those hundreds of stone 
 steps on his knees," said Richard, " and hanged a dozen 
 enemies before and after to flavour his devotions." 
 
 Some of the old portraits are falling rapidly into 
 decay. Charles of Valois, marked 1524, has entirely 
 lost his face. The dates painted below each of these 
 pictures probably denote the time when these princes 
 visited Rocamadour — Jean de Valois, 1344 ; John, King 
 of Bohemia, 1324; Marie of Luxembourg, Queen of 
 
'Rocamadour 199 
 
 Charles de Bel, in 1324, and Alphonse of Boulogne in 
 1242. 
 
 Angela sighed deeply and regretfully at having been 
 born so late that she could not be present at any one 
 of these great processions. 
 
 " I wish I could have witnessed such a royal pilgrim- 
 age ! " she said. 
 
 No great princes come here now, either to pillage or 
 to pray, but the summer religious gatherings still have 
 much of the twelfth-century character. Accompanied 
 by their cures carrying floating banners, with much 
 chanting and loud praying as they walk, the peasants, 
 some on foot, some in the trains, and nearly all natives 
 of the near-by provinces, come to Rocamadour to im- 
 plore help of the miraculous statue. Before the pil- 
 grims arrive each season they are preceded by a van- 
 guard of beggars and pedlars who encamp on the great 
 stone stairway leading from the village street to the 
 sanctuaries, and who keep up a hideous din with their 
 entreaties and lamentations. 
 
 The pious pilgrims kneel at every step of the long 
 flight, some crawling all the way up to the top, praying 
 and singing as they go. The noise is inconceivable! 
 When they arrive at the church of St. Sauveur the first 
 care of these peasants is to confess their sins, and the 
 priests, who fill the long row of confessionals stretched 
 under the portraits of the former august pilgrims, are 
 kept busy listening to a string of misdeeds having none 
 of the exciting quality which those of Louis XI. had 
 to offer. Even St. Louis, if history speaks truly, had 
 a few interesting crimes to confess. 
 
200 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 There is no secrecy about these peasant confessions. 
 The boxes wherein the priests sit are open on all sides, 
 and the pious pilgrims are in such a hurry to obtain par- 
 don that they not only crowd on one another's heels, 
 but hasten to shout their sins to the priest before he has 
 had time to deal out the proper penance and absolve 
 the predecessors. 
 
 " What a famous opportunity it must be for them 
 to discover their neighbour's faults. But I suppose 
 each one of them is too busy with himself to listen ! " 
 This was Margot's idea of the rite. Angela Victoria 
 again was pensive. 
 
 When a " successful retreat," as it is called, is in 
 progress, the church and the chapels adjoining are 
 filled at night with pilgrims, some sleeping on the hard 
 floor, others praying and chanting aloud to an accom- 
 paniment of snores. 
 
 It is the idealised camp meeting! A certain and a 
 large mass of humanity crave this sort of religious 
 excitement. The doctrines may be different, but the 
 naive emotional simplicity is the same, whether the 
 way lies to Mecca, to a grove in New England, or to 
 Rocamadour. 
 
 When Angela Victoria and her friends left the 
 church with its royal frescoes, the boy with the Basque 
 cap again met them, this time accompanied by a pretty 
 young woman, whose simple black dress hung about her 
 in graceful folds, and whose hands were busy with 
 knitting needles. 
 
 " Monsieur and Mesdames wish a guide ! " she said 
 confidently. 
 
ROCAMADOUR 
 
 VIEW OF THE VALLEY 
 FROM A ROCK GALLERY 
 
 THE PILGRIMS' STEPS 
 
 THE COURT OF THE SANCTUARIES 
 
 THE CRUMBLING GATEWAY 
 • OF THE TOWN 
 
Rocamadour 201 
 
 Monsieur gave one glance at the modest, charming 
 face and felt that without a guide he could go no 
 farther. 
 
 " Why don't you conduct us ? " Margot asked the 
 boy. 
 
 He smiled. " Ma foil I have not yet eaten. This 
 is my sister; she has the keys of the Chateau gate. 
 She likes climbing," and he went back, laughing, to his 
 place on the steps. 
 
 The girl led them through another of the imposing 
 fortified gateways, and out onto a broad zigzag path 
 which meandered up the mountainside amidst blossom- 
 ing shrubbery, waving masses of iris, and a wealth 
 of flowering laburnum and cytisus. The Bishop of 
 Cahors has constructed this lovely and graceful path 
 to the Grotto of the Agony, near the top of the hill. 
 It is called "The Way of the Cross." There are 
 Stations at each bend of the path where beautifully 
 carved statuettes, coloured and placed in stone niches, 
 represent the sufferings of Christ on his way to Cal- 
 vary. The Grotto of the Agony is a large, natural 
 cave, containing a group of figures in stone, life-size, 
 and recalling the scene in the Garden of Gethsemane. 
 Half way up this steep hill, a little to one side of the 
 path, is a terrace overlooking the valley. On it has 
 been placed a great wooden cross, once carried in pro- 
 cession through Jerusalem, and then brought here by 
 barefooted French pilgrims. 
 
 As the party stood under its shadow their girl guide 
 was so overcome by enthusiasm that she put her knitting 
 in her pocket, and, with many exclamations, said: " Ah, 
 
202 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 you should see how magnificent we are on the Septem- 
 ber evening when the grande retraite ends. Then all 
 the pilgrims wind up this road carrying lighted flam- 
 beaux and singing as loud as possible." 
 
 Angela involuntarily clapped her hands over her 
 ears at the suggestion. 
 
 " Ah ! Mais, Madame! It is superbe! magnifique! " 
 said the girl, who noticed the unconscious movement. 
 " The voices are splendid in the open air. And the 
 sight is wonderful! Here under the cross are pulleys 
 and wire, which they stretch way across the valley and 
 hang with coloured lights." 
 
 " Pilgrimages have become modern," sighed Angela, 
 " with modern decorations." 
 
 " I prefer to be here on this lovely morning," ex- 
 claimed Richard. " We have, instead of pilgrims with 
 rough peasant voices, the song-birds cracking their 
 little throats in praise of Nature, and the sun, and the 
 clouds, following each other to vary the light in the 
 valley. Flowers blooming everywhere to brighten this 
 stern pile of rock and sanctuary, and Robinson frisk- 
 ing wildly with the godgiven joy of animal spirits." 
 
 " Just my sentiments ! " exclaimed Margot. 
 
 The girl had been listening to the English speech 
 with puzzled face. She did not understand a word that 
 had been spoken, but she nodded encouragingly, think- 
 ing it might be something concerning the pilgrim- 
 age. 
 
 " Oui, oui, il y en a souvent des Anglais," politely 
 wishing him to know that the gatherings were not ex- 
 clusively French. 
 
Rocamadour 203 
 
 The Chateau, no longer the stronghold It once was, 
 when it defended the surrounding country and pro- 
 tected the treasures of the church from the ruthless ruf- 
 fians and invading Angevins, is now the habitation of 
 missionary fathers. It has been restored and is kept 
 in a state of fine preservation. The view from the 
 ramparts is inexpressibly grand. Far below the whole 
 the deep canon, rolling off toward Cahors, is seen, 
 while almost even with the castle wall stretches the 
 plateau and the wild, monotonous region of stones and 
 moorland which forms Les Causes, the arid plain 
 through which they had driven on their way to 
 Rocamadour. 
 
 The girl pointed to a grove of sparse oak trees be- 
 yond the castle wall on the top of the hill. " The 
 Fathers get many hundred francs from the truffles 
 they dig there in the winter." 
 
 Angela looked with interest, but Margot cried out: 
 
 " The mention of truffles sharpens my appetite. Do 
 let us go to breakfast. I think I can enjoy it more 
 than sightseeing just now." 
 
 Richard laughed and so did Angela. They cast 
 a last look at the wide stretch of the valley, and then 
 cautiously climbed down two hundred and sixteen steps, 
 a short way the guide took to lead them to the Restau- 
 rant St. Marie. There, on a sort of balcony hanging 
 in midair, far above the roofs of the lower village 
 street, amidst hanging vines and great tubs with flour- 
 ishing oleanders about their table, they were served 
 with an inviting dejeuner. 
 
 The pleasant-voiced waitress not only gave them 
 
204 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 truffles to eat, but told them about the Father's clever 
 pig who had dug up the delicious tubers. 
 
 " That pig adores truffles," she said. " Mais, voila! 
 one that is well trained! She roots them up, but she 
 does not touch them. If her ear is pulled, or even 
 tapped, she gives up the truffle and takes a bit of corn 
 instead." 
 
 " And we dare to speak with contempt of pigs ! 
 Are you listening, Robinson ? " asked Margot, offer- 
 ing the little dog a truffle, which he promptly and 
 resentfully spat out. 
 
 It seems that in Rocamadour, according to their 
 waitress, the seasons of pilgrimage bring material as 
 well as spiritual joys. Many of the maidens from afar 
 find homes here, as well as absolution, while the men 
 from over the Dordogne carry back wives which the 
 Virgin is good enough to find for them in Rocamadour. 
 
 " I hope the Virgin will be as good to us — don't you, 
 Cousin Angela? " 
 
 Angela was happy ; she said lightly, " If she is, I 
 will bring Georgina." 
 
 Margot held up her hands in supplication and made 
 a wry face. 
 
 " Don't you think she might do something for me? " 
 said Richard. 
 
 " I'll speak to her about it," said Margot. 
 
 The waitress knew not one word of English except 
 " yes," which, with smiles and many interested nods, 
 she uttered at stated and most inappropriate intervals. 
 When she was bored by listening to the foreign tongue, 
 she re-entered the conversation by giving them what 
 was probably a standard piece of information. 
 
iRocainadour 205 
 
 " We have no king here," she said, " but we have 
 a tyrant," she groaned comically, in pretended rage. 
 " He holds the key to the town pump and we can get 
 no water unless he chooses. When he is ready in the 
 morning, he thumps on a big drum for us to come, but 
 long after we are all waiting he continues to pound his 
 instrument, instead of serving us. He's a musician, 
 that one! He thinks he can play the drum," and 
 she chuckled at the thought as gaily as if the cir- 
 cumstance was something new. 
 
 Margot went off with the waitress to feed Robinson 
 and see the kitchen, but Richard and Angela sat con- 
 tentedly among the oleanders and vines, which draped 
 the rest of the terrace, and gazed down at the sluggish 
 little river between the lovely green banks. 
 
 " I am going to brush up my French at the rate of 
 a lesson a day when I get home," he remarked. " I 
 never before realised how much enjoyment is gained 
 by getting all the fine points and the fresh exclamations 
 with which the French tell a story they must have re- 
 peated a hundred times. To tell you the truth, this 
 is the first time I have ever really travelled in France 
 with enjoyment, thanks to you." 
 
 " Georgina, my sister, would be surprised to hear 
 you say that. She always contends that I do not know 
 how to travel." 
 
 He was about to answer when Margot came flashing 
 back. " The patron says we ought to go to Padirac ! " 
 
 Richard grinned. " Somehow or other that doesn't 
 sound very polite. What is Padirac?" 
 
 " Mais — but— it is quelque chose de wonderful ! Im- 
 mense! Splendide! and several other adjectives besides. 
 
206 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 In plain English it is a big cave. It would seem that 
 these hills are full of subterranean wonders ! " 
 
 " Thank you," laughed Richard, " but I prefer the 
 top of the earth." 
 
 " So do I," said Angela quietly. " I hate dark, mys- 
 terious caves and smtoking torches." 
 
 " There aren't any torches, now ! You have electric 
 lights! On the underground rivers there are motor 
 boats, and we all go down in an elevator." 
 
 " Worse and worse ! " exclaimed Angela, horrified. 
 
 Richard made a grimace. 
 
 " Very well, if I can't persuade you to go under 
 the earth, I must content myself with descending the 
 two or three hundred steps that go down to the street. 
 The omnibus is waiting for us ! Come c-n Robinson ! " 
 and she was off. 
 
 Angela Victoria and Richard went down more leis- 
 urely, casting lingering glances at the lights and shad- 
 ows on the hills and the golden patches of sunshine 
 on the yellow winding road to Cahors. 
 
 Down in the village street women and children were 
 carrying home loaves of bread as big round as a barrel 
 top. 
 
 "Baking day!" announced Margot. 
 
 One beggar alone was visible in the town. She asked 
 nothing of this party. She went from door to door, 
 followed by her child, and the humblest of little donkeys, 
 walking straight into the houses to ask for a bit of the 
 stale loaf. 
 
 " Une anesse, et sa petite." Nowhere was her peti- 
 tion denied. 
 
Rocamadour 207 
 
 The rickety little waggonette, which the driver dig- 
 nified by the title of omnibus, received them, and they 
 rumbled away through the crumbling fortified gate, 
 stopping once while the driver offered to give a lift 
 to some school children who had come down into the 
 valley to gather learning, which they found rather too 
 heavy to carry successfully uphill. They clambered 
 up beside the driver and turned round to ask permis- 
 sion to pat Robinson, who submitted condescendingly 
 to a caress from each one of the fat little hands. 
 
 " How I hate to rush off so soon. This is the most 
 enchanting, deliciously funny, fascinating, perchy place 
 I ever saw ! " exclaimed the superlative-loving Margot. 
 " I shall never see anything again like this in my life. 
 Could anyone ever make you believe there was such a 
 place, Cousin Angela, slammed right up against the 
 side of a mountain? I don't see how they ever stuck 
 it on! I wonder it hasn't fallen off." Seen from the 
 road they were then mounting, Rocamadour fully justi- 
 fied Margot's exclamations, but as Richard declared: 
 " It has been sticking there ever since before the time 
 of Charlemagne, so I do not think it will fall off before 
 we come back again." 
 
 The vivacious driver, not to be left totally out of 
 the conversation, began to describe with more exact- 
 ness than delicacy the ills of some of the afflicted pil- 
 grims who were brought to Rocamadour, that miracles 
 might be performed in their favour. 
 
 The school children listened with that awe and in- 
 tense interest the young take in the horrible, but Mar- 
 got stopped him short by asking him to describe some 
 
208 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 miracle he had seen performed. He scratched his 
 head with the butt end of the whip, flicked a bold fly 
 off the horse's flank, and said : " Mais ca — Je ne 
 sais " and quietly relapsed into reflection. 
 
 The children munched great pieces of bread, offer- 
 ing every few minutes a crumb or so to Robinson, who 
 accepted all they gave him with eager politeness, then 
 quietly dropped the bits on the floor as soon as they 
 devoted themselves to the next bite. Dry bread was 
 hardly worth the trouble of swallowing. 
 
 The lean horses pulled the vehicle slowly up the long 
 hill, and, as the noon sun shone brightly on the scene, 
 they could look back down the whole of the long street, 
 and on the luxurious sweeping vines mingling with 
 bright flowers that grew along the steep city wall next 
 the river; on the yellow tints of the castellated sanctu- 
 aries, clinging like swallows' nests beneath the grey 
 overhanging rocks ; on the dark trees, growing beside 
 the castle, whose crowning glory was the slender 
 towers so perilously balanced on the edge of the 
 precipice. Black rooks were circling around the val- 
 ley, and the whole scene was a marvel to their eyes. 
 With every step of the straining animals the tints in 
 the landscape changed until suddenly at the beginning 
 of the plateau they turned inland, and the whole scene 
 vanished as if by magic. 
 
 They were early at the station, and Margot spied a 
 man in an automobile coat, whose machine was wait- 
 ing outside. 
 
 " It's nothing but a scroot," she whispered in An- 
 
ROCAMADOUR 
 
 A TERRACE TWIXT HEAVEN 
 AND EARTH 
 
 THE BEGGARS OF ROCAMADOUR 
 
 THE VALUABLE TRUFFLE HUNTERS 
 
Rocamadour. 209 
 
 gela's ear, " but I wish we were going off in it just the 
 same ! " 
 
 " We wouldn't get to Albi for a week," replied An- 
 gela. 
 
 " I wouldn't care if we didn't get there for a month," 
 said that incorrigible dawdler, Margot. 
 
 At this moment Richard called her to help him ask 
 the man some questions. 
 
 Yes, he had come from Brive. Pas trial de collmes, 
 but a good road. 
 
 " Always a good road," whispered Margot. " Do 
 you notice that? " 
 
 He expected to go through Rocamadour by the 
 highway they had seen in the valley, and so on to 
 Cahors. 
 
 The poor woman, with her unfortunate and repul- 
 sive child, was also waiting for the train back to 
 Brive. Angela, moved with sympathy and the great 
 love the mother evidently felt for the afflicted little 
 object, entered into conversation with her. 
 
 The child looked big and healthy, except for the 
 wretched sores. She kept fretting a little, constantly 
 muttering, " Ma-ma — ma-ma — ma-ma," to which the 
 mother would answer tenderly, " Mon rati " a pet 
 name which made Angela shudder. 
 
 The woman said she had been to the shrine to pray, 
 to give alms, to procure some holy oil, which she 
 thought an all-sufficient cure. She did not hesitate 
 to rub the afflicted spots with her far from clean 
 fingers to ease the itching which made the child com- 
 
210 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 plain. Angela was in agony. She could not help 
 saying : " Oh, don't do that ! Get some fresh warm 
 water, some clean old linen, an antiseptic, and a 
 doctor ! " 
 
 " M on dieu! " A doctor, all right, mais de Veaul " 
 and the train came to end all discussion on that 
 subject. 
 
# 
 
 Chapter VIII 
 
 ALBI 
 
 Mr. HARDY is not going with us to Albi; he 
 says he is going directly on to Toulouse." Angela 
 did not reply. The gentleman in question had gono 
 down the corridor of the car into the smoking com- 
 partment. 
 
 " He says he thinks you do not want him," went on 
 Margot. 
 
 " That is hardly a fair thing to imply." 
 
 " He didn't exactly say those words, but I am sure 
 that is why he has decided to leave us." Angela Vic- 
 toria looked out at the sky. " Won't you ask him to 
 stay, Cousin Angela? " 
 
 " No, my dear, I will not." She spoke with deci- 
 sion. " You have had him a long time, and you should 
 be satisfied." 
 
 "A long time! Why, how can you call three or 
 four days a long time! I really think you might ask 
 him to stay with us until we get to Carcassonne. It is 
 so much more convenient to have a man, and Richard 
 Hardy seems to know so many nice things about all 
 the towns that we don't really need a guide book." 
 
 Angela Victoria was still silent. So, after Margot 
 had pouted a little, she gave Robinson an extra squeeze 
 or so, which he bore with equanimity, but turned his 
 
 211 
 
212 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 head away feebly in protest. After this conversation 
 Richard's first remark, when he returned to the com- 
 partment smelling of smoke, was neither totally unex- 
 pected, nor did it cause Angela the faintest surprise. 
 
 "This," he said, as he put his cherished briarwood 
 into its case, ""will be my sole consolation to-morrow." 
 Angela did not respond, and Margot made up a pout- 
 ing face. " I ought to go on from Tessonieres to Tou- 
 louse." He spoke as if he were feeling his way. " I have 
 some business there. It is at Tessonieres, I believe, that 
 you change for Albi. You are going to Albi now, are 
 you not? 
 
 He looked furtively at Angela, who thought to her- 
 self, " What a fraud he is ! " 
 
 "Yes," she replied, so pleasantly that Margot 
 pinched Robinson's ear. Then, feeling that something 
 more was demanded, she stammered : " It has been 
 very nice to have you with us so long." 
 
 Margot looked out of the window, and said abruptly : 
 " The rain of stone fell over all these fields, too, didn't 
 it? I wonder where it stopped." 
 
 So the subject of parting was ended for the moment. 
 
 Although they had left the station at Rocamadour 
 some miles behind, they were still on Les Causes de 
 Gramat. Sheep were grazing on all sides in the fields. 
 At one small station a farmer was putting two of 
 them into his cart ; they lay curled up in a great melon- 
 shaped basket, strapped firmly down, but looking quite 
 comfortable, nevertheless. 
 
 The dark-skinned, black-haired peasants, with their 
 blue flat caps jauntily set over one ear and the wide 
 
Albi 213 
 
 trousers bound at the waist by gay handkerchiefs, 
 chatted merrily in patois, the rich rolling tongue of 
 the South. The trainmen shouted incomprehensible 
 remarks to the loungers at each station, and the 
 maitresse de la poste gossiped in that rich dialect to 
 the railway postoffice clerk as she delivered into his 
 care the small mail bag and the iron box with registered 
 letters always brought down to every French express 
 train. 
 
 The rugged industry of the hard-working French 
 peasant has wrenched from the rocky soil luxurious 
 green fields, which grew broader and broader until at 
 length they spread out below this stony region into 
 a land of smiling valleys, of flowering hedges and roll- 
 ing, fertile fields, the hills richly cultivated to the very 
 top. Along the road villages clustered around a ruined 
 tower or an imposing church, and weather-beaten 
 chateaux, now turned from their former uses to pros- 
 perous farm houses, had in the dooryards the enormous 
 dove-cotes of olden times, around which fluttered great 
 flocks of cooing doves. Piles of fodder denoted the 
 richness of the land ; the corn was growing tall enough 
 to nod in the breeze, and great white oxen were busy 
 in the fields. Gorges, deep and dark, guarded by the 
 ruins of a castle or ancient fortifications, succeeded 
 these broad, sunny stretches. In this mountainous 
 country, where the struggles of the Middle Ages made 
 battle a constant necessity, no height proved too in- 
 accessible, no rock too steep on which to erect a feudal 
 stronghold. 
 
 Margot flew in excitement from one side of the car- 
 
214 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 riage to the other; going now out into the corridor 
 to look far down below the track at a lovely valley, and 
 then back to the other side to crane her neck at a 
 turreted chateau set high above the green fields. Her 
 sorrow at Richard Hardy's departure was entirely for- 
 gotten in the pleasure of the varied scenery. Her eyes 
 were so constantly busy with the surprises of the 
 landscape that her tongue found it difficult to utter 
 expletives capable of describing her enthusiasm, as 
 garden land succeeded savage deep defile, and ruined 
 castles followed upon peaceful, rustic villages crouch- 
 ing beside babbling brooks. Robinson, accustomed more 
 or less to his mistress' excitable temperament, squeezed 
 himself up close to Angela Victoria and rested his 
 head on her knee, rolling his eyes in sentimental fashion 
 while she stroked his ears. 
 
 " How a dog loves to be loved," said Richard, medi- 
 tating. " And the lucky beggars usually get it, too ! " 
 
 "This is Figeac, is it not?" said Angela, evasively. 
 
 Like many of the towns of Aquitaine, Figeac owed 
 its beginnings to a monastery as far back as the days 
 of Pepin, that prince who gave the popes their tem- 
 poral power in exchange for the throne of France. 
 Figeac has been through many vicissitudes since that 
 time, but it remains a queer old town where the 
 Chateau de Balenes, which once belonged to Edward 
 III. of England, and sold by him before his death, still 
 exists, now turned into a schoolhouse, beautifully 
 adorned with carved roses and shamrocks. 
 
 The ancient monastery church has this quaint in- 
 scription in the choir: 
 
Albi 215 
 
 " Dieu m'a ornee 1540 — Dieu m'a reparS 1761." 
 
 Champollion, the greatest of Orientalists, was born 
 in this town, and on the curious narrow streets there are 
 still remains of many lovely bits of beautiful Gothic 
 architecture. 
 
 Capdenac is the next station to Figeac, and at no 
 great distance from the latter. Here the train made a 
 wait of some twenty minutes, and they got out of the 
 carriage to look across the broad flowing River Lot at 
 the town which crowns a precipice high above the bank 
 of the stream. The conductor, smiling at Angela and 
 at the franc she slipped into his hand, said to them: 
 " Go to the end of the platform and look up and 
 down the river. I won't permit the train to go with- 
 out you, and you can see nothing from here." Robinson 
 and Richard galloped to the buffet to buy cakes and 
 incidentally to stretch their legs, while Angela and 
 Margot looked up at the proud old fortress and the 
 the beautiful river winding off into a splendid valley 
 below the town. 
 
 " If I were going to write a book about this trip, it 
 would be a short one," said Margot. " I would put 
 in the middle of every page, ' It is great ; come and see 
 it.'" 
 
 " Which would not be entirely satisfactory to those 
 unfortunates who do their travelling beside the winter 
 hearth." 
 
 The steep rocks rising straight up above the red 
 roofs of the houses, and the old castle walls sheer above 
 them, were yellow with broom flowers and draped heav- 
 ily with hanging vines, in which purple, pink, and yellow 
 
216 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 mingled with the green.. Sully, the noted minister of 
 Henry of Navarre, owned this castle, in which his an- 
 cestors had once lived and fought. 
 
 "What lots of colour there is here," was Margot's 
 next remark. " Look at the walls and roofs of this old 
 town, Cousin Angela; how gay they are! Not a bit 
 like the sad violet tints of the north. The people splash 
 on pink, green, red and yellow to suit themselves." 
 
 " Each region has its charm," said her cousin, ear- 
 nestly^ " and the colours of each suit the region. I can't 
 imagine Angers or Le Mans wanting to look gay." 
 
 Margot very nearly imperilled her head leaning 
 out of the window for a parting glance at Capdenac 
 and the River Lot. 
 
 Another little stream, the Diege, now kept them com- 
 pany on the way to Villefranche, where the train 
 enters the beautiful valley of the Aveyron. The region 
 through which the line from Villefranche to Tesso- 
 nieres finds its way has few rivals in France; it is a 
 district where nature has taken pleasure in displaying 
 all her many moods and where human interests abound. 
 Grey, surly gorges, almost closed to man by natural 
 walls formed of overhanging rocks, without possible 
 roads, are succeeded by groves of bronzed chestnut 
 trees, and the valley spreading out on the banks of the 
 sinuous Aveyron. From the rolling, smiling plain rise 
 abrupt elevations, on which were planted castles by the 
 defenders of this passage to the southern countries for 
 the protection of themselves and their vassals. Nearly 
 all of these feudal strongholds have fallen at the hands 
 of ruthless destroyers, leaving in the present age only 
 
AM 217 
 
 jagged walls and falling towers to make the natural 
 picturesqueness of the landscape more human and 
 interesting. 
 
 Villefranche, a populous city with a truly splendid 
 church and an old Carthusian abbey, lies sunken in a 
 hollow. The Black Prince fought desperately outside 
 its walls, beginning with the capture of this city a con- 
 quest which ended in the final expulsion of the British 
 from Aquitaine. In later centuries the Huguenots and 
 the Catholics stirred up bitter religious strife in this 
 ancient citadel, and the Protestant chiefs were hanged 
 from the windows of the Hotel de Ville for the murder 
 of the Catholic governor. After leaving Villefranche 
 the train pulls slowly up a steep grade into a dreary 
 mining district, where coal and iron abound, and the 
 banks on either side of the track are dull and grey with 
 the refuse from the mines; then again by a quick 
 change the road turns a sudden bend and enters a 
 valley of exquisite beauty, where upon a rock of peril- 
 ous height is the great Chateau of Najac, one of 
 the most romantic spots anywhere on the j ourney. The 
 castle, looking down over the land from this high point, 
 awakens many souvenirs of romance and chivalry. It 
 was built in 1110 and for centuries guarded the smiling 
 country and the winding defiles from any approaching 
 force. It was almost impregnable, and the ruins to-day 
 are among the most picturesque in existence. A little 
 village nestles at the foot of the precipitous castle rock 
 and an old bridge spans the flowing river. The castle 
 itself, after centuries of glorious memories, was sold 
 for twelve francs during the Revolution, and after 
 
218 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 serving as a quarry for the entire neighbourhood the 
 present proprietor bought it for fifteen hundred. 
 
 Margot and Angela gazed longingly up at the singu- 
 lar old town and its crowning towers. 
 
 " How I hate to let these heavenly old bits get away 
 from me ! " cried Margot. 
 
 " Heavenly in more ways than one," laughed Richard. 
 
 " Don't joke; I am coming back here on my wedding 
 tour ! " said Margot. 
 
 " Then I'm coming with you," he answered. 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 Angela did not join in the fun, but she felt with 
 Margot that it was becoming more and more difficult 
 to go past these enchanting remains of ancient 
 France, beckoning and enticing them to stop by the 
 way and dive deep into the memories hidden in their 
 massive walls. 
 
 She was becoming discouraged herself at the diffi- 
 culty of describing adequately what she saw. She 
 therefore mentally changed her projected literary work 
 from a book of travel to a romance of the Middle Ages. 
 It would not be any more difficult to write and a great 
 deal more entertaining. She was sending her hero with 
 a train of knights up the heights and over the draw- 
 bridge into reconstructed Najac when the train shook 
 on noisily over the bridge and into a tunnel. When they 
 came out she found Richard sitting quietly before her, 
 calling her attention to the last and most beautiful 
 picture of the vanishing ruin framed between a cleft 
 in the rocky precipice beside the track. 
 
 " Another spot we should linger in," he was saying, 
 
IN CENTRAL FRANCE 
 
 A STRETCH OF FERTILE COUNTRY 
 
Alii 219 
 
 " with its old gates and vine-grown towers. It rained 
 castles in this part of the world. But is there not some- 
 thing very sad to you in the relics of wild, reckless, 
 turbulent spirits long laid low? The empty shells left 
 by all the throngs of knights and retainers as their 
 only souvenir?" 
 
 " Ah ! " eagerly answered Angela, " history has not 
 forgotten them." 
 
 " What does history tell us about Najac, and the 
 trains that came and went over that drawbridge through 
 generations ? " 
 
 " Whether history speaks of them or not, the monu- 
 ment remains, and I cannot look upon it without thor- 
 oughly loving those human old knights full of a sim- 
 plicity we call barbarism. I shouldn't in the least mind 
 their ignorance or brutality if I could only tumble 
 back among them once more. I am sure they were 
 chivalrous at heart." 
 
 Richard laughed incredulously. "We are more 
 sophisticated, but cleaner and more comfortable." 
 
 " How do we know that we are? We only think so. 
 Future generations may look back at us and denounce 
 us as being quite as savage ! I don't believe our emo- 
 tions are half as strong or as natural as they were in 
 the Middle Ages." 
 
 " Perhaps not as violent, but I will not agree that 
 they are not quite as strong. No old knight setting off 
 for the Crusades could feel more desolate at parting 
 than I shall be to leave this little party in an hour or 
 so." 
 
 " I don't think it is quite an hour to Tessonieres," 
 
220 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Angela answered, unconcernedly. Then again being 
 overcome by her politeness, and feeling these were not 
 very courteous words, uttered the banality of which 
 she had been guilty the last time he spoke of leaving: 
 "It has been a great pleasure to have you with us." 
 In spite of her attempt at extra cordiality, it seemed to 
 her her voice sounded very frigid. 
 
 " Here we go in among the black rocks again," was 
 the way in which he accepted her attempt at politeness, 
 and the subject closed. 
 
 On flew the train past La Guepie and its frowning 
 donjon; then again, as though to counteract a dark 
 impression, the spreading valley appeared stretching 
 away beside a shady stream, through tilled lands and 
 thick-walled farm houses, which had sprung from the 
 spoils of the nobles' castles. Every acre was cultivated, 
 and the men were ploughing in the warm fields with 
 sturdy oxen, while the women, laden down with great 
 heaps of fagots, trudged along the well-made road. 
 
 The plenteous rains had filled every stream to the 
 very banks and polished up the young f oliage and fresh- 
 ened the fields. The lilac, iris and fruit blossoms of the 
 early spring were left behind in the north; here the 
 brighter flowers of approaching summer grew along 
 the wayside and trimmed the hedges with garlands. 
 Again, beyond Lexos, a dull hamlet, the valley closed 
 in and sharp black rocks rose on one side of the 
 deep ravine, through which a brawling river tears and 
 frolics. At the desolate station of Vindrac-Alaynac the 
 landscape widens again ; there were more velvet fields and 
 wide-leaved trees, while over the plain in the far distance 
 
Albi 221 
 
 appeared the ancient city of Cordes, resting on the top 
 of a cone-shaped hill and looking like a bit of Italy 
 escaped into France, bringing with it the radiance of an 
 Italian sun, with which the hill town shone pink and 
 yellow in the flash of the late afternoon light. 
 
 Margot did not attempt to conceal her regret at 
 Richard Hardy's departure, and he was evidently very 
 unwilling to leave her. It was not in the nature of 
 things that Angela's tender heart should not likewise 
 feel depressed at what she considered her duty in send- 
 ing him off. 
 
 All the world loves a lover, and a sentimental old 
 maid feels more intensely than the rest of humanity 
 when her innermost soul is warmed by the spectacle of 
 mutual affection. Angela Victoria decided that it now 
 existed under her very eyes, and had not her conscience 
 reproached her as a negligent chaperone and the vision 
 of Georgina's inquisitorial questioning and possible 
 wrath thrown a deep shadow over the future, she would 
 even now have changed her mind and asked Richard 
 to come with them to Albi. 
 
 She sat absentmindedly petting Robinson and turn- 
 ing the question over in her mind. Margot and Rich- 
 ard stood outside in the corridor, talking in low tones 
 and apparently forgetful of all but one another. 
 
 The road here passes through an undulating wood- 
 clothed country which hides La Cayla, once the home 
 of Maurice and Eugenie de Guerin, whose journal, a 
 French classic, Angela had received once as a prize at 
 school. She had meant to look out from this place on 
 the cemetery near Andillac, where his devoted sister 
 
222 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 came so often after he lay buried there, and then went 
 home to continue her journal " still to him, to my dear 
 Maurice, to my Maurice in Heaven." But in her ex- 
 citement she forgot all about it. 
 
 Richard left Margot and came back into the car- 
 riage to call her Attention to three chateaux which they 
 were about to approach. " I hope this has been as 
 much of a red-letter day to you as it has been to me," 
 he said. She wilfully misunderstood him. Margot was 
 the only one to whom he should use such pretty phrases. 
 She answered by another platitude : " The landscape 
 has been very changeable." He smiled quietly, but took 
 the cue at once. 
 
 " Yes, quite as variable and as delightful as the 
 nation which has grown up in it." 
 
 Just then the train drew up at Tessonieres, a su- 
 premely dull, uninteresting junction, in a supremely 
 dull, uninteresting plain. Richard helped them out 
 with their rugs and small bags, and went across to in- 
 stall them in the train for Albi, which was standing on 
 another track. 
 
 Margot lamented unreservedly that Richard was to 
 leave them. 
 
 " Your train will soon be leaving. You must not get 
 left ! " said Angela Victoria, nervously, as he walked 
 slowly beside them across the line. 
 
 He smiled at her anxiety. 
 
 " Don't fear ; there's no such evil in store for you, 
 nor such good luck for me. My train halts here for 
 ten minutes." 
 
 " I envy you your day to-morrow," he said, turning 
 
Albi 223 
 
 to Mar got, not venturing to open the subject again 
 with Angela Victoria. 
 
 " I have often wondered if the cathedral at Albi 
 looked as smooth in reality as it does in the pic- 
 tures." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't see why you're not coming with us," 
 said Margot, despairingly. " We shall miss you hor- 
 ribly, and the lion will pine for you." The lion in 
 question was sitting calmly down on the seat of the 
 carriage, looking with a very disgusted air at the 
 leash Margot had hooked on for fear he would bound 
 after Richard. 
 
 "En voiture! en voiturel " 
 
 The adieux were made. 
 
 " I hope I shall some time meet you in Paris," Angela 
 said, with cordiality. 
 
 " I shall hope to see you long before we get to 
 Paris ! " exclaimed Margot, leaning way out of the car- 
 riage window and forcing the lion to offer a limp paw, 
 almost to the peril of his existence. 
 
 " Au revoir, au revoir! " waved Margot, and they 
 were gone. 
 
 There was no more romantic scenery. From Tesso- 
 nieres to Albi the way lies over a flat plain, with here and 
 there abrupt hills crowned with towers. They imagined 
 each one of these to be the city they were seeking, al- 
 though finally when the great cathedral really loomed 
 into sight they wondered how it was possible they could 
 have been so stupid as to mistake the smaller churches 
 for this extraordinary edifice. 
 
 Angela Victoria had regained her composure, and 
 
224 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Margot's spirits did not seem to suffer at Richard's 
 departure. She began eagerly to discuss hotels. 
 
 "Where are we going, Cousin Angela? Hare says 
 that all the hotels in Albi are dirty." 
 
 " But the Guide Joanne recommends La Poste. The 
 Guide Joanne, can never lie!" 
 
 " Va pour la Poste! " 
 
 The Hotel de la Poste proved quite as satisfactory as 
 the guide book had said. There was no fault to find, 
 from the green parrot welcoming them in the entrance 
 hall to their own comfortable bedroom and Robinson's 
 dinner. It is a clean, quiet house, and after they had 
 eaten well they slept the sleep of wearied travellers. 
 
 The finest view of Albi's extraordinary cathedral is 
 to be had from a bridge a few steps below the hotel on 
 the boulevard. They went there by the advice of their 
 newest and latest Jean to look at it before taking their 
 way through the narrow streets for a nearer inspec- 
 tion. 
 
 "It looks to me much more like a fortress than a 
 church," said Angela, and so it does from this point 
 above the river, rising on ragged rocks, overtopping 
 the grim palace of the archbishop and the square don- 
 jon, where many a wretched heretic who was imprisoned 
 during the great heresy of the Albigenses suffered tor- 
 ture and death for daring to deny the might of the 
 Pope. 
 
 It had been raining again the night, and the way to 
 the cathedral led them through squalid, muddy streets, 
 lined with houses, among which here and there a fine 
 bit of architecture peeped out ; but the general impres- 
 
pq " 
 
 o I 
 
 z o. 
 
 < < 
 
 o 
 o 
 
 Q 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 o 
 o 
 
 z 
 
 w 
 tr w 
 
 t-i o 
 W ° 
 
 M u. 
 o 
 
 >< 
 h 
 
Albi 225 
 
 sion they had of Albi was that of a true mile merid- 
 lonale. The boulevards are of the same shabby de- 
 scription common throughout Southern France: the 
 broad promenade of a town easy-going, neglected, and 
 given over to that simple social enjoyment which the 
 citizens find in small cafes. These avenues were once 
 the ancient city moat. The cafes swarm everywhere, 
 particularly on the Place la Perouse, where they stand 
 crowding one another, shoulder to shoulder, while plenty 
 hide themselves away on the humbler streets in the inner 
 town. One wonders in a city of the Midi how all these 
 cafes manage to exist, but they always seem gay and 
 full of patrons. 
 
 " Here we are at last, Cousin Angela ! Dans le Midi! 
 Listen to the accent! All the s's are z's. I love these 
 genial people." Notwithstanding the rain, the boule- 
 vards were not muddy ; they were dusty, another char- 
 acteristic of the south ; but Angela and Margot trudged 
 bravely through the middle of them, while Robinson 
 pursued his triumphant way among the friendly south- 
 ern curs. 
 
 " The cathedral looks as if it were made out of 
 chewing gum," was the young lady's first exclamation 
 when they came in view of that splendid edifice. The 
 pink brick wall is in reality not unlike the colour of 
 spruce gum, and as smooth as if the whole structure had 
 been sandpapered after it was finished. It clearly sug- 
 gests the American delectable dainty to which Margot 
 compared it at first sight. But further inspection of 
 this chewing-gum cathedral revealed to her that it was 
 adorned with one of the most superbly carved portals 
 
226 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 of stone known to the world. It is an unequalled mar- 
 vel of delicate lacework fashioned by a sculptor's chisel. 
 
 It was a strange fancy to mix the severity of this 
 carefully constructed brick edifice with such rich and 
 elaborate stone carving. The choir built inside the 
 vast church, which is without a nave, is a miracle of 
 intricate sculpture, where, in elaborately wrought stone 
 niches, stand statues of the apostles, saints, and sover- 
 eigns clad in the costumes of the time when those who 
 cut them from the stone were living. These statues are 
 coloured, and now a thick, coat of dust has gathered 
 over them, softening each line and improving the beauty 
 by deepening the shadows. The walls of the main 
 church are covered with strange old paintings, while 
 above the high altar the Last Judgment is depicted 
 with a vividness of imagination calculated to alarm the 
 most hardened of sinners. 
 
 A bustling sexton prepared to show the cousins 
 about. They could easily have explored the church 
 without his help, but talking with guides afforded them 
 more than half their amusement when they went sight- 
 seeing. In this particular, Margot and Angela Vic- 
 toria were exactly alike and quite different from the 
 dignified Georgina. The sacristan in question was 
 evidently strongly divided between a desire for the fee 
 they would bestow upon him and his religious duty. He 
 told them that he was about to be the chief functionary 
 at a wedding soon to take place at the high altar. He 
 entreated them to wait for the ceremony, so they bought 
 a package of postal cards for his benefit, and he imme- 
 diately gave them seats on chairs reserved for the 
 
AIM 227 
 
 guests, not even objecting to the presence of Robinson. 
 These chairs were the low, rush-bottom affairs with 
 which French churches are strewn and which serve 
 equally well as seats or praying stools. 
 
 Robinson tried to poke his stub nose out from his 
 place of concealment under Margot's cloak, which he 
 found altogether too warm for his taste in that south- 
 ern climate. After exhibiting his discomfort by audi- 
 ble pantings, which disturbed and alarmed his mistress, 
 he was cautiously lowered to the stone floor, where, cool 
 and comfortable, he crouched quiet and unnoticed, ob- 
 serving the ceremony. 
 
 The wedding was a very simple affair. The bridal 
 party plainly belonged to the bourgeoisie. 
 
 " You can always tell their station in society by the 
 men," whispered Margot. The groom, in fact, looked 
 like a shoemaker in a hired dress coat, but the young 
 bride and her mother were as stylishly attired as Pari- 
 sian aristocrats. She wore a white satin gown beau- 
 tifully made, with a long tulle veil, and looked like a 
 fashion plate, while her mamma, who perhaps in every- 
 day life occupied the position of a washerwoman, wore 
 a graceful and pretty costume of soft grey. 
 
 The new husband was an ordinary and very insig- 
 nificant personage, but he had a kindly face and looked 
 like a good man. The father was a peasant. 
 
 The officiating priest in rich robes, the acolytes in 
 brilliant red soutanes, their white surplices edged with 
 broad, beautiful lace; a soldier brother in his best 
 uniform, with plenty of yellow worsted trimmings, and, 
 first and foremost, the sexton, transformed into a splen- 
 
228 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 did beadle clad in shining array of gold and gorgeous 
 apparel, lent an air of magnificence and festivity to 
 the scene. 
 
 " Our weddings won't be half as grand as this," 
 whispered Margot. " Couldn't we manage to be mar- 
 ried in France? " 
 
 Angela looked into the mischievous young face; but 
 this time she did not smile at her girlish cousin's non- 
 sense. The wedding party had brought a sense of mo- 
 mentary depression to her. 
 
 An old lady, who had come into the cathedral to 
 enjoy a quiet snooze while pretending to tell her beads, 
 woke up at the first sound of the priest's voice and left 
 the church in haste. Margot looked after her in sur- 
 prise; and Angela thought with sympathy that the 
 ancient dame was perhaps overcome by emotion and 
 sad souvenirs. The true cause of her flight was re- 
 vealed in the tinkling bell and collection bag of their 
 friend the " Suisse." Each one of the cousins dropped 
 a franc into the slender fund. 
 
 " I wish the bride could have it. I would like to make 
 her that much of a present," again whispered Margot. 
 
 " Pour VEnglissse! " hissed the sexton. 
 
 " Do you suppose he will take it himself? " 
 
 " Of course not ! " indignantly answered Angela, the 
 unsuspicious. 
 
 The little wedding party went out as quietly as they 
 had come in. Margot, Angela and the bold Robinson 
 followed in its wake, thus escaping the eager sacristan 
 until they should come again in the afternoon. 
 
 The square at the back of the cathedral is grass- 
 
AM 229 
 
 grown and neglected. The market women with their 
 gay umbrellas and attractive wares on that warm 
 spring morning had ceded the place to half a dozen 
 small boys playing ball. The showy acolyte who had 
 considered himself of primary importance at the wed- 
 ding suddenly appeared at the head of the stately flight 
 of steps under the porch, and, like a great crimson 
 ball, whirled himself down and out under the castellated 
 archway into the group of his companions, stopping 
 their game to call attention to the peculiar charms of 
 Robinson. 
 
 The four little fellows ceased throwing the ball to 
 follow their bright-robed friend, who, holding up his 
 gaudy skirts over unspeakably shabby trousers, inter- 
 cepted the two ladies and the small dog. 
 
 " Je vcms prie, Madame; will he bite? We have never 
 seen his like. What kind is he? " 
 
 " A boul-doug," she told them. 
 
 " Un Anglais! " proudly announced the acolyte. 
 
 The youngest of the group, a bold little chap of 
 eight, ventured to pat the frisking little beast. Find- 
 ing that no evil resulted, other small hands were put 
 out cautiously, and Robinson, in spite of feeling hor- 
 ribly bored by the undesired admiration, was conde- 
 scending enough to lick one of the dusky little human 
 paws. 
 
 Their delight knew no bounds. 
 
 " He has entered la cathedrale! " excitedly an- 
 nounced the youngster in red ; " he has assisted at the 
 wedding ! " 
 
 " TSt te! " cried the others in chorus. Then Angela 
 
230 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 made the acolyte happy by telling him how well he 
 looked marching up to the altar. 
 
 " Do you wear your red gown all day ? " 
 
 " Mais non, Madame! but papa is still there," and, 
 glancing the way he had come, they saw a comfortable 
 group gathered under the canopy of stone lacework 
 from which he had descended upon them. The sexton, 
 with his feet on the rail, was balancing himself as 
 adroitly on the two back legs of his chair as ever did 
 any Maine farmer outside the village store, while two 
 other little boys in red soutanes played marbles at the 
 feet of a man sitting on the balustrade talking to the 
 cure. 
 
 "We are really now in a land where the people are 
 at home in the churches." 
 
 After converting the ball players into capitalists by 
 distributing two sous to each, the crimson boy flashed 
 back to " papa," and the cousins went their way, leav- 
 ing the tiny lads with their heads together, eagerly and 
 vehemently discussing the question whether Robinson 
 was the ugliest or the prettiest dog they had ever seen. 
 
 Fifty years ago this uninteresting place was crowded 
 with ancient houses having carved beams, interesting 
 gables and overhanging stories, all huddled so close to 
 the cathedral wall that the beauty of the splendid south 
 portal was obstructed. These antique structures exist 
 now solely on the picture postal cards. They were un- 
 doubtedly as decrepit and unsanitary as they were in- 
 teresting, but they have been replaced by modernised 
 buildings, farther away from the church, quite as 
 decrepit and unsanitary, besides being ugly into the 
 
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 h 
 
 w 
 u 
 
Albi 231 
 
 bargain. Albi was never noted for its sanitary condi- 
 tions. Leprosy and frequent terrible pests killed off 
 quite as many of the inhabitants as did the swords of 
 the Crusaders or the tortures of the Inquisition. Albi 
 was always a hotbed of strife and contention, and heresy 
 was rife from the early days of the rebellious Albi- 
 genses to the later period, when the Inquisition drove 
 forth the Huguenots. The Albigenses, those early 
 schismatics who revolted against the authority of the 
 church, are not credited with either having invented any 
 new religious doctrine or improving on , the old. A 
 crusade was carried on against them mainly for the 
 reason that crusades were a popular way the potentates 
 of the time took to perform penance for their sins; 
 being at once exciting and affording an outlet for tur- 
 bulent spirits to keep from interfering with the work- 
 ings of the governments. When the Albigenses sect 
 arose Jerusalem was out of the question for many rea- 
 sons, one of the most salient being that nobody wanted 
 to go to the East. The Albigenses furnished an excuse 
 and an occasion to wear the Cross. Persecution created 
 obstinacy, and the primary cause was obliterated by 
 party hatred. Raymond of Toulouse defended the 
 heretics of Albi against the superstitious fanaticism 
 of the multitudes and got himself into such serious 
 trouble that he nearly lost all of his domains. The 
 river, now so lovely and peaceful, then ran red with 
 blood, and horrible carnage filled this little town with 
 slaughtered victims. 
 
 The cathedral was not built until after this period, 
 but when the Inquisition was crowding the donjons of 
 
232 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the archbishop's palace with trembling, tortured vic- 
 tims awaiting their doom, this splendid fortress-church 
 was rising, and its terrors were still raging when the 
 German mason sculptors from Strasburg went uncon- 
 cernedly about their work and carved out of solid stone 
 the most exquisitely beautiful exuberant " frozen 
 music " ever devised. 
 
 The cousins looked back at the cathedral porch before 
 they entered a squalid street. 
 
 " A feudal tower on which the chatelaine has draped 
 her rarest lace that she might honour the expected 
 king." 
 
 " Or the knight of her choice," finished Angela Vic- 
 toria, musingly. 
 
 They were looking up past the round, smooth brick- 
 crenelated tower to the masses of filmy fretwork, 
 scarcely possible at that distance to associate with solid 
 stone. It seemed as though the fairy-like fabric ought 
 to float in the breeze. 
 
 They were nearly in front of an aged church, against 
 which some wretched houses lean, as if for protection. 
 A fine tower, and an old woman who came down the 
 crumbling steps, crossing herself many times, decided 
 Angela to enter. There is one splendid tomb, but noth- 
 ing else which enticed her to linger. Margot had not 
 followed her. She stood out in the dirty street listen- 
 ing with rapture to the strains of a Beethoven sonata, 
 which, played by a master hand, floated down from the 
 open window of one of the decayed Renaissance houses. 
 
 When the adagio was ended the music ceased, and 
 they went on in silence. 
 
AM 233 
 
 Wandering further through the sprawling streets, 
 past the Hotel de Ville, they found more interesting bits 
 of architectural memories sandwiched between hideous 
 modern houses. 
 
 Margot, who was somewhat in advance of her dreamy 
 cousin, suddenly disappeared in a doorway. Robinson 
 followed with a bound, and Angela hastened after to 
 find herself in a dingy little shop where ugly modern 
 bric-a-brac and genuine antiquities consorted amiably 
 with one another and were crowded confusedly to- 
 gether, all covered with the same mantle of dust. 
 
 The old woman who owned this mixture of treasure 
 and rubbish was laboriously removing something from 
 the window as Angela entered. 
 
 Robinson, having whispered " Rats ! " to himself, had 
 vanished on a hunting expedition under chairs and be- 
 hind wardrobes in pursuit of the prey he was forever 
 chasing but never captured. 
 
 Margot was helping the shopkeeper, and when finally 
 the object of their endeavours was dragged into the 
 space they had managed to prepare to receive it, there 
 stood revealed an enchanting old Spanish desk of un- 
 doubted antiquity. 
 
 Angela uttered an exclamation of admiration. Mar- 
 got examined it with ecstatic ejaculations. 
 
 " Mamma has been pining and looking everywhere 
 for years for a desk like this ; Aunt Julia got one 
 somewhere in Spain. It isn't half as lovely as this. 
 Mamma will be crazy about it. She will do anything I 
 want when she sees this, and forgive me ten times over 
 for running away with you. Look how exquisitely the 
 
234 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 ivory and the silver is inlaid, and the little ebony col- 
 umns are carved! Isn't it a jewel?" 
 
 The old vendor wiped it carefully with a very dingy 
 silk handkerchief, opened the drawers of the cabinet, 
 showed the secret compartment and elaborated on the 
 perfect condition of her treasure. She told them she 
 had bought it from an old house of the last member 
 of a family that had lived there for centuries. The 
 house had been torn down, but judging from some other 
 effects she had acquired at the sale it must have been 
 furnished as incongruously as the antiquity shop. 
 
 The woman knew the value of the desk. She fre- 
 quently disposed of her most lucky finds in Paris. 
 Neither Angela Victoria nor Margot was good at bar- 
 gaining; her mother must have the desk; she would 
 never forgive her daughter for letting such a prize slip 
 through her hands. It was agreed that for three hun- 
 dred and fifty francs it should be boxed and delivered 
 in Paris. 
 
 " How much money have you in your pocket, Cousin 
 Angela? " 
 
 " I have two hundred francs, but I will draw more 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I want only twenty-five of them. That will settle 
 this hill, and you can pay my way until the next allow- 
 ance comes." 
 
 The twenty-five francs were followed by another fifty 
 on her own account, and in exchange she bore away a 
 choice bit of deliriously faded old tapestry and a roll 
 of coloured prints. Had it not been that her cheques 
 were in her trunk and her trunk en consigne at the 
 
ALU 235 
 
 station a second hundred would have gone galloping 
 after the first, but she remembered in time and kept 
 enough for current expenses. 
 
 Angela Victoria sometimes had her wits about her. 
 
 The long afternoon was spent among the won- 
 ders of the cathedral carvings, sitting first before the 
 " Jube," which Hare compares to " a thousand inter- 
 lacings of a mossy bank, a harmonious mass of laby- 
 rinthine stonework," and then strolling slowly around 
 the choir to look with delight at the statues. There is 
 a sense of the sculptors' intimacy with the kings and 
 saints and angels expressed in the costumes in which 
 they have clothed these high personages which amused 
 and delighted Angela Victoria, and the coating of dust 
 to which her cousin objected made them more attrac- 
 tive to her. 
 
 Margbt had been seized with a mania for taking 
 photographs, and discovered as she was starting out 
 that the camera she had not opened since she left Paris 
 was without films. She therefore made her way to 
 " le grand bazar " while Angela wended her way to the 
 cathedral 
 
 A small company of canons, which seemed composed 
 of the oldest and youngest priests in the service of the 
 cathedral, had just entered the choir and disturbed An- 
 gela in her contemplation of the unusual woodcarving 
 of the stalls when Margot appeared at the south 
 portal. 
 
 She had a tale to tell of the amiable hospitality of 
 the southern people. At the grand bazar, after taking 
 infinite pains to find a film proper for her kodak, the 
 
236 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 shopkeeper gave up the unsuccessful endeavour and 
 sent a small boy with her to a drug shop where he 
 thought she might find what she wanted. The druggist, 
 like the proprietor of the bazar, searched through his 
 stock from top to bottom. When his search proved 
 in vain, with pleasant smiles and as many excuses as if 
 he had committed an unpardonable blunder in not laying 
 in a supply of those particular pellicules, he went with 
 her himself to the street corner and pointed out a pho- 
 tographer's establishment. 
 
 " It may be, Mademoiselle, he will have what you 
 wish ; although he does not sell supplies. He but takes 
 portraits." 
 
 Margot, by that time interested in the possibilities 
 of the chase, went to the photographer's. Of course 
 he had not that film exactment, but inviting her to re- 
 pose herself in the loveliest of gardens, he endeavoured 
 with the end of an extra spool and some ingenuity to 
 make the film he had fit her camera. It did not prove 
 very useful, although perhaps her own unskilfiilness 
 and the late hour of the day when she attempted her 
 work were both responsible for the failure of the views ; 
 but she had enjoyed her afternoon ten times more than 
 if the bazar had at once supplied her needs. 
 
 The last walk they took next morning in Albi, like 
 their first, was to the Pont Neuf. They had been there 
 by moonlight the evening before and watched the silver 
 light spread over the overhanging houses on the opposite 
 side of the stream and gain at last the massive ugly 
 tower of the cathedral, transforming it by an enchanted 
 touch into a marvel of stately beauty. Now, in the 
 

Albi 237 
 
 early daylight they came to stamp upon their memories 
 the picture of the individuality and strength of the 
 strangest cathedral their eyes had ever enjoyed. 
 
 " How I wish Richard Hardy had come with us ! It 
 was cruel to send him off." 
 
 But her cousin evidently was not listening. " Come," 
 she said, " we have barely time to settle the bill before 
 the omnibus leaves." 
 
 At the Hotel de la Poste, besides the genial smiling 
 landlady, there lives in perfect harmony a dog, a cat, 
 and a parrot. Robinson as a guest entered perfectly 
 into the spirit of this company. He convinced Madame 
 Ronchoneau, the cat, of his peaceable intentions by 
 turning away and sitting quietly down when she 
 humped her back and her tail grew large. The land- 
 lady in consequence loved him for his considerate con- 
 duct. " En voila un qui n'est pas bete," she reiterated, 
 unconscious of the pun. Robinson ended his sojourn 
 in Albi by a famous romp with the two four-footed 
 friends, to the accompaniment of squawks from the 
 parrot. After a final race of " three times round " the 
 little dog vanished from sight by diving after his mis- 
 tress into the depths of the omnibus, leaving his com- 
 rades staring in amazement and Madame la Proprie- 
 taise shaking with laughter. 
 
 " Allez! " shouted the porter, banging the door, and 
 they rattled down les Lices past the many cafes crowded 
 with imperturbable pleasure-seekers, who will sit out in 
 the dust after dejeuner and enjoy life over a cup of 
 coffee until it is time for a siesta, and then come back 
 and lounge away an hour or two over their aperitif, 
 
238 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 and later return after dinner to spend the evening in 
 harmless amusement. 
 
 The South is the country of cafes. There are cafes 
 for the rich, cafes for those of slender means, cafes for 
 the poor. The majority of these places of entertain- 
 ment are out of doors, with tables spread on the 
 sidewalk almost out into the street, for the greater 
 pleasure of a people who find it impossible to enjoy 
 themselves within four walls, and for whom the cafe, 
 with the simple innocuous refreshment it offers, is a 
 necessary joy in life. 
 
 The boulevards of Albi are planted more thickly 
 with cafes than they are with trees. 
 
& 4? # 
 
 Chapter IX 
 
 CABCASONNE 
 
 M. Carcasonne by Castres, Castellemaury ! " called 
 out the baggage porter to the registrar. " On the other 
 track, Mesdames; I will bring the bags." 
 
 " We are in the land of garlic and rich accent, 
 Cousin Angela." 
 
 The porter pronounced the name of their destina- 
 tion " Car-ra-ca-sun-a," and the perfume of the odor- 
 ous vegetable hung thick about him. 
 
 From the apple blossoms and light spring foliage 
 of Normandy down through the sunny splashes of the 
 genet in Anjou, the blossoming hedges and iris of Cen- 
 tral Prance, Angela Victoria and her cousin had now 
 come where the brilliancy of the poppies, the opening 
 roses and the high-waving fields of grain proclaimed 
 the summer. 
 
 " Here are more cleft rocks, more enchanting ra- 
 vines, more well-tilled fields torn from unwilling nature ; 
 more villages tucked away in safety beneath a church, 
 and castles, castles, castles ! " Still they were in the 
 land of the Crusaders, where wild Brabant mercenaries 
 and jingling knights had passed over the hilltops and 
 through the stony ways in the valley. " I fancy," 
 said Angela, " I can see groups of mediaeval warriors 
 
 339 
 
240 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 and their squires trudging along on their horses 
 through all these mountain paths ! " 
 
 " Steeds ! You must say steeds, Cousin Angela. 
 What I wonder is, whether the Brabant-hired soldier 
 of the olden times was anything like the Belgian of 
 to-day." » 
 
 " He was undoubtedly a very rude, formidable per- 
 son," said Angela, which little piece of humour amused 
 them very much, as they had once passed a summer in 
 modern Brabant together. 
 
 The road leads through the romantic country 
 where, during the twelfth century, the jongleur and 
 the knightly troubadour wandered from castle to castle 
 gaining material for their songs and coming finally to 
 the Court of Love, which was held so long near Castres 
 by Constance, Countess of Toulouse, and Adelaide, 
 Vicomtesse of Albi. On what remains now of the once 
 noted chateau where these ladies received the poets, 
 singers and minstrels from far and near, the busy 
 wheels of life run, manufacturing commodities for the 
 modern world. 
 
 " I wish we could fill a box with old chronicles and 
 travel around this country in a van," said Angela, 
 musingly, " stopping to read, to imagine and to recon- 
 struct among all this wild scenery and these splendid 
 ruins. Wouldn't that be an ideal summer ! " 
 
 " I'd rather do it in an auto, if I could come with 
 the right person," said the more practical Margot. 
 
 Angela sighed. " An automobile seems desecration 
 among these scenes of chivalry and romance." 
 
Carcasonne 241 
 
 " Perhaps ! But me for the motor car ! The miles 
 are marked by chateaux ; we could never get around to 
 them all in a van. They must have been the cafes of 
 old Provence ! " 
 
 " You sacrilegious girl ! " laughed Angela. " How 
 can you trample so on my sacred weaknesses ! " 
 
 " You are an old darling. I love your sentimentality, 
 but I also love motor cars. So do you." 
 
 Before they reached Carcasonne darkness had shut 
 down over the landscape. Angela and Margot stared 
 curiously about as they left the station, for the walls 
 of that old city with which the pictures had made them 
 familiar ; but they saw nothing but streets barely wide 
 enough for the passage of a donkey cart, through 
 which the driver who piloted the hotel omnibus an- 
 nounced his approach at every turn by blowing a horn 
 until, with a final fanfare, he swung his vehicle with 
 supreme address into the courtyard of the Hotel Ber- 
 nard, and before them lay an attractive entrance, where 
 modern electricity lights up ancient outside galleries 
 overhanging a courtyard garden with a sparkling, 
 trickling fountain. 
 
 A suave landlord advanced, bowing, to greet them, 
 smiling at pretty Margot, as all men did, and making 
 a profound reverence to Angela Victoria. 
 
 " A landlord ! " whispered Margot, as he disappeared 
 into the house to give orders. " Perhaps we shall find 
 a chambermaid here, too." Her conjecture was an- 
 swered by a trim little maid in the frilled cap of the 
 Midi, who came back in the wake of the host, and, taking 
 
242 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 their bags, conducted them by devious ways up broad 
 flights of stairs and through salons into a bedroom of 
 palatial size. 
 
 It was not until she had left them provided with hot 
 water and the luxuries so keenly appreciated by tired 
 travellers that the cousins' continued surprise found 
 voice. They looked around the roomy apartment at the 
 comfortable beds, the generous washstand. The up-to- 
 date pieces of furniture quite obliterated the shining 
 inlaid floor, the carved frames of old panel walls deco- 
 rated with huge mirrors, and the evidences of antiquity 
 in the interesting fireplace. Angela sank down on the 
 sofa. "And this is Carcasonne! At the very least I 
 expected to be pulled up a hill ; to clatter over a draw- 
 bridge, and come in under a raised portcullis and finally 
 to be put down at a quaint little inn clinging to high 
 
 city walls " She glanced around in contempt. 
 
 " Why, I can't see even a tower ! " 
 
 " I saw some fine cake shops on our way here ; Rob- 
 inson and I are going to try them to-morrow." 
 
 " How can you joke? You know I am cruelly dis- 
 appointed. This is serious. I have been anticipating 
 Carcasonne more than any place on the whole of my 
 travels. Indeed, it has long been a Mecca for me! 
 
 Mon Dieu, que je mourais content, 
 Aprit avoir vu Carcasonne I ' 
 
 Eh, Cousin Angela? Don't despair yet; perhaps 
 the ramparts are behind the hotel and we came through 
 the portcullis in the dark. The omnibus driver was 
 making such a hubbub with his horn and everything was 
 
Carcasonne 243 
 
 rattling so that no human being could have told if we 
 had been clattering over bridges all the way here. Do 
 get ready for dinner. I am starving!" 
 
 Angela got up slowly. Still looking disconsolate, 
 she said weakly: " I'm sure this is one of those railway 
 advertisement frauds. We shall find in the end that 
 Carcasonne is nothing but a painted panorama. I al- 
 ways did think the pictures were too lovely to be true! " 
 
 " Don't despair ! Under the shadow of that disap- 
 pointment we must pull ourselves together with substan- 
 tial food. Robinson, you wait here, and I promise to 
 bring you a fine dinner. If they tell me that dogs are 
 allowed in the dining-room of this fine hotel you shall 
 lie under the table to-morrow. You are a tired doggie. 
 You need rest." 
 
 Robinson rolled his eyes in meek denial, retired slowly 
 to a spot where his mistress inadvertently had dropped 
 her handkerchief, and turning three times slowly 
 around, laid himself down upon it, with his eyes glued 
 to the door out of which she had vanished. " That's 
 the way humans treat us ! She thinks I can sleep on 
 an empty stomach ! " was the reflection which filled his 
 canine soul. 
 
 The little doggie did not pine in solitude very long, 
 for in the midst of excitement caused by a dream fight 
 in which he had just conquered the biggest dog in all 
 France, he regained triumphant consciousness as his 
 mistress' quick footsteps brought him up on his feet. 
 
 " Come on, Robinson," and Robinson, with pirouettes 
 and valse steps, executed with incredible swiftness, 
 danced down onto the terrace in the courtyard near 
 
244 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the fountain to be regaled with the sumptuous repast. 
 His mistress and her cousin sat beside him at a table 
 sipping coffee and listening to inoffensive music fur- 
 nished by a mild orchestra in the shape of a music box, 
 which could be stopped at will without taking offence, 
 in the middle of any one of its five selections from 
 " Faust," " Matitche," " The Valse Bleue " and other 
 light, choice gems. 
 
 Robinson divided with a mouse-coloured poodle the 
 admiration of all the guests on the terrace. He strutted 
 around like a king, sneezing for sugar with all the 
 sweet simplicity of a creature accustomed to adulation 
 wherever he went. 
 
 A large notice hung on the wall giving the prices of 
 cab fares to " La Cite." 
 
 "Doesn't that sound just like a panorama." ex- 
 claimed Angela Victoria. " I know it's some horrid 
 old fraud! If it is, I won't stay here another day! 
 I had made up my mind to take my manuscript (as yet 
 all blank paper) and sit among those wonderful old 
 walls and towers in the sunshine and write chapters and 
 chapters. How cruel ! " 
 
 " Don't despair yet, Cousin Angela ; we've only just 
 come. Suppose we go out now and take a walk before 
 bedtime ; we might possibly find the ramparts by moon- 
 light." 
 
 Angela Victoria was rich in possession of guide 
 books, but she had a habit, of which Margot was like- 
 wise guilty and which filled Georgina with indignation. 
 She never consulted her guide book at the right time. 
 In consequence of this peculiar method of self-instruc- 
 
CARCASSONNE— THE LOWER TOWN 
 
 LES LICES 
 AN UNDECIDED VOTER 
 
 A MAIN STREET 
 COURTYARD OF HOTEL BERNARD 
 
Carcasonne 245 
 
 tion, neither of them found that evening either walls 
 or towers. In the narrow streets the people were taking 
 the air and visiting their friends who sat before the 
 shop doors enjoying the mild spring evening. Crowds 
 were promenading the broad boulevard beneath the 
 splendid waving beech trees, whose trunks glistened like 
 silver in the flood of white moonlight. 
 
 " Walls or no walls," cried Margot, enthusiastically, 
 " I'm just crazy about Carcasonne ! " 
 
 " Perhaps the cit£ is up .there," said Angela, glanc- 
 ing up at a kind of a bastion which jutted out upon 
 the boulevard. There was no entrance nor any way 
 of seeing what was on the top of the mound. They 
 walked around it only to find more boulevard on the 
 other side, and then, as it was late, prudently went 
 back to the hotel through the same street by which 
 they had come. 
 
 " You're not very strong at finding the way, Cousin 
 Angela; neither am I. Distances are so deceptive by 
 night, and everything looks so differently. I do not 
 dare to let you get too far away from that charming 
 room that is waiting for us." 
 
 They discovered next morning the true state of the 
 case. The hotel in which they were stopping was in 
 the lower city, which was an outgrowth of the old 
 fortified city on the hill, and laid out after the uninter- 
 esting pattern of a gridiron, with the boulevards, for- 
 merly the old moat, surrounding it on four sides. The 
 ancient citfi is not visible from any place on the walk 
 they had taken the previous evening. 
 
 " Letters ! Letters ! " cried Margot. " Something to 
 
246 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 make up for our disappointment and the portcullis ! " 
 She entered the room and, turning on the light, began 
 to look over her bundle of correspondence. She was 
 so absorbed in one lengthy epistle that she did not 
 answer when Angela said: 
 
 " Georgina expects us day after to-morrow. She 
 says our time will be up then and she has engaged our 
 rooms for that date. I shan't stir, even if there's noth- 
 ing to see here; we are too comfortable, and I mean 
 to do some writing. Would you like to go on to- 
 morrow? " 
 
 Margot, who had retired to the other side of the 
 room, let the long letter she was reading fall on the 
 floor. 
 
 "To-morrow? To-morrow? Please, Cousin Angela, 
 don't go before Monday." 
 
 While she was still speaking a knock came on the 
 lofty, shaky double door, which was followed by the 
 entrance of the black-eyed, smiling chambermaid, Clo- 
 tilde. From the rolling, slipping pronunciation of her 
 tongue to the quick, graceful gesticulations of her 
 hands, from the alertness of her small body and the 
 constant shrug of the shoulders to the lifting of the 
 eyebrows, everything in Clotilde denoted the native of 
 the Midi. 
 
 " The ladies are going to-morrow? " 
 
 " No, indeed," quickly answered Margot. 
 
 " Bon, c'est bon! " There was a suspicious sound of 
 g at the end of bong. " To-morrow will be market 
 day and that is gay, but alas ! on the next day we will 
 have our elections, and that will be ' bieng triste,' " 
 
Carcasonne 247 
 
 " Why ' triste '? What is there sad about the elec- 
 tion ? " asked Angela, with interest. 
 
 " Ah, -Madame ! It is sad because the candidates are 
 all democrats. Social democrats! When the elections 
 are made, if these men are elected all the churches in 
 France will be closed up ; that is, unless in other pays 
 de la France, the people are more fortunate than we 
 poor ones in Carcasonne." She sighed deeply. 
 
 " Who told you that, Clotilde? " 
 
 " Mais, Madame! All the world knows ! Did not 
 these miserables come here and take the list of all the 
 treasures in our church. We made a riot ! Mais, c'etait 
 
 bieng wne entente! Madame la Comtesse de C , 
 
 Madame la Baronne de D , all of us who are eleves 
 
 du cowvent were there, but the dragoons came and wne 
 scene terrible occurred. Nobody was hurt, mats, com- 
 ment on a criee! Ah, what a noise! The wretched 
 creatures ! They wrote down on paper everything there 
 was in the church." 
 
 " Did they steal anything, or take anything away? " 
 
 " Non! non, Madame; they did not dare ! You must 
 go to-morrow and see the treasures they counted. All 
 the great silver hearts, the beautiful gifts and ex-voto 
 tablets presented in gratitude to the Virgin for her 
 miracles! We have also a miraculous Virgin here. 
 The deputies by this time have read all those lists 
 and, sans doute, each has chosen what they liked best; 
 and if the elections go wrong for us they will put all 
 these rich objects in their pockets." 
 
 " Then let us hope it will go right," said Angela. 
 But Clotilde was in a despondent mood, and holding up 
 
248 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 high her shrugged shoulders, went off shaking her 
 head. 
 
 The following morning the cousins were roused at a 
 very early hour by the noise in the square outside their 
 window. Loud voices and rattling carts heralded the 
 coming of the market folk. Robinson, very much ex- 
 cited, instantly mounted a windowsill so broad that it 
 could have accommodated a Saint Bernard dog with 
 comfort; consequently this small Boston terrier walked 
 up and down like a lion and stared out at the scene 
 below with an interest which betrayed itself by his low 
 mutterings and half-suppressed barks. 
 
 " Here is what our cheap restaurants always label as 
 ' Unsurpassed Coffee,' " said Margot, smacking her lips. 
 Clotilde had spread a very dainty breakfast table for 
 them. " After all, I think women understand chamber 
 work in its refinement better than all our Jeans have 
 done," went on Margot, looking at Clotilde. 
 
 " Don't be ungrateful to those who were so good to 
 us." 
 
 "And the honey of the country," proudly inter- 
 rupted the little servant maid. 
 
 Angela quickly took her hands out of the wash basin 
 and hurried to do justice to what to her was the 
 most welcome meal of the day. She grew so emphatic 
 in her praise of the delicately brown rolls, the rich- 
 coloured coffee, the pats of fresh butter and golden 
 honey, served them on delicate china, with snowy linen 
 and a dewy rose at each plate, that Robinson leaped 
 down from his place of observation, attracted by the 
 enthusiastic tone of voice, expecting to find a feast of 
 
'Carcasonne 249 
 
 liver and beef bones ; when his mistress offered him dry 
 bread he retired disgusted to resume his watch of the 
 market. 
 
 " Clotilde can tell us, I am sure, how to find the cite." 
 Clotilde at once broke forth with delighted directions 
 and ejaculations which convinced them that for won- 
 der, for beauty, for superbe point de vue nothing on 
 earth could equal the citS. 
 
 " Be sure that we take the guide book, Cousin An- 
 gela." 
 
 " I can't to-day ; it's down at the very bottom of 
 my trunk, and I am not going to unpack anything but 
 the basket until to-morrow. Then I shall get books 
 and manuscripts all out." 
 
 The market was a sea of white caps when they 
 stepped out of the hotel door. The cousins threaded 
 their way among the booths and passed the vendors 
 under the arcades, through which they went into La 
 Grande Rue. 
 
 " When we come back from our walk it will be just 
 as lively here as it is now, probably more amusing," 
 said Angela, seeing that Margot was inclined to linger. 
 
 The peasants who come to buy from the more dis- 
 tant villages had not yet arrived, and many of the 
 peddlers under the covered arches were only beginning 
 to spread their wares. 
 
 " Where do you suppose the entrancing Carcasonne 
 of the picture books has hidden itself? The Rue de 
 la Republique, Liberie and Carnot, all those dull names 
 of new France, do not suit me in this place at all." 
 
 " At least they have kept the name of Grande Rue 
 
250 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 for this narrow street, which ought to be called La Pe- 
 tite Rue. That has a flavour of antiquity. I suppose 
 it was very big for olden times. A splendid, wide thor- 
 oughfare for this Carcasonne of the plain." 
 
 They entered a prosperous-looking book shop which 
 lay on their path, and bought from a pile of historical 
 matter Viollet-le-Duc's monograph on Carcasonne, from 
 which they absorbed much technical and, to them, in- 
 comprehensible matter, together with some few enter- 
 taining facts of history, upon which Angela Victoria 
 pounced with delight. Not sufficiently self-confident 
 to be convinced that notwithstanding Clotilde's care- 
 ful directions she was perhaps leading Margot astray 
 by turning in a direction diametrically opposed to what 
 she had been told, Angela stopped to ask the way of a 
 woman sitting in front of her shop door. 
 
 " Oui, oui, Madame," declared the woman with inter- 
 est. " Continue by this street and pass over La Square 
 Gambetta and you will come to the bridge; there you 
 can see la cite." 
 
 Margot laughed. " I knew we should strike Gam- 
 betta somewhere. I suppose that square, as they call 
 it, once had some delightful queer old name full of 
 suggestion which the ardent republican soul of modern 
 France has pushed away into obscurity to honour a pol- 
 itician. Why is it republics are never artistic? They 
 never are! " 
 
 Angela Victoria nodded her head wisely. She had 
 no answer for that theory. He thoughts were occupied 
 with dreams of the past. She fancied herself crowned 
 with a high, pointed headdress with a floating veil, 
 
Carcasonne 251 
 
 long, flowing sleeves, a troublesome train, pointed 
 shoes, and a shining girdle hanging from her slender 
 waist, as she picked her way through the mud of a Rue 
 du Chat qui Saut. She would surely have been lovely 
 to look upon in that costume, but, romantic as she was, 
 the modern Angela Victoria had a strong affection for 
 the bathtub, and therefore little genuine sympathy with 
 the habits of the age to which she wished to belong; 
 indeed, she was disturbed in her dreams at this moment 
 by the disgust she suddenly felt for the swift-flowing 
 open gutters of the Grande Rue. 
 
 Robinson had quite different sentiments on the sub- 
 jects. He had no leanings toward the romantic past, 
 but he could not be kept out of the gutter. Margot 
 was forced to stop and lecture him on his common, low 
 tastes. 
 
 " Aren't you ashamed of yourself ! And you from 
 Boston! If you can't keep away from these muddy 
 French dogs, or if you stop again to play in the water, 
 I will hang you on the leash ! " 
 
 Robinson, very much hurt, came promptly to heel. 
 
 In Carcasonne every inhabitant owns one and some- 
 times two dogs; these are perfectly good-natured, 
 harmless canines, who enjoy life while lying in the mid- 
 dle of the street or playing in a lazy way with one an- 
 other. Robinson was overcome with the ignominy he 
 would endure if he were hanged on a string in the pres- 
 ence of all these free creatures to whom he had just been 
 boasting of his travelling experiences. 
 
 " Look at that lazy black dog. I don't suppose he 
 would move even if an automobile came along." Mar- 
 
252 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 got shook her finger at her pet; Robinson understood 
 perfectly these inconsequential remarks and felt sorry 
 for himself; but he loved his kind; the sidewalk was 
 not many inches wide, so, while he pretended repentance, 
 he slily walked into the clean water of the flowing gut- 
 ter and then jumped back close to his owner before she 
 saw him, rejecting all the advances made him by those 
 dogs with whom he longed to frisk. 
 
 The Cite is fully a mile from the Hotel Bernard. 
 The cousins saw it first from the old bridge, looking up 
 to where it crowns the hill through the soft, glowing, 
 warm sunshine of that southern spring morning. The- 
 walls and towers took on shades of pink, purple, blue 
 and yellow in that golden atmosphere. The place 
 seemed like a vision of the past, a mirage of the Middle 
 Ages. The inequality of the land on which this for- 
 tress was built adds infinite grace to the Cite as it 
 rises above the steep banks of vivid green turf. The 
 ramparts undulate with the rise and fall of the heights 
 and hollows of the ground, and as they gazed upon it 
 the bristling slate tops of the many towers stood shin- 
 ingly silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky. The air 
 was balmy and fragrant, and the snow lingering on the 
 distant Black Mountains sent no sharp, cutting blast 
 toward Carcasonne. The river, swollen by the rain, 
 swirled through the arches of the ancient bridge, Le 
 Vieux Pont, built in 1184, and in one of the niches 
 above the massive spurs the two cousins seated them- 
 selves on the broad parapet, struck with the beauty of 
 the magic fortress which seemed so unreal that they 
 feared it might vanish at any moment; the painted 
 
Carcasonne 253 
 
 plaster walls and tiled roofs of the houses of the bourg 
 clustered near the river below the rampart was a mass 
 of pink, red, and dull violet colour. The leisurely peas- 
 ant driving his slow-going, sleek horse, clad in its 
 great horned collar, passed by them over the bridge 
 on the way to market and brought colour into the 
 scene. 
 
 These great collars, which constitute almost the en- 
 tire harness used upon the draft animals of the Midi, 
 are frequently very expensive affairs. The horns are 
 made of stuffed leather of different colours and most in- 
 geniously sewed together like a piece of patchwork by 
 leather thongs in place of thread. The drivers add to 
 the artistic effect by hanging on these horns the light 
 sacking they use as blankets for their animals, when 
 this is not in use. The effect is extremely quaint, 
 graceful and picturesque. 
 
 The climb to the Cite through the ill-paved streets 
 of the bourg and then up the steep road below the 
 mound on which the citadel is built and which leads to 
 the chief entrance of the walls, La Porte Narbonnaise, 
 was easier for Robinson than for anyone else in the 
 party. He raced up the steep embankments and tum- 
 bled down again, galloped up the road and rushed 
 back, just to show what a simple matter it was to storm 
 an ascent. 
 
 The cousins toiled up slowly, stopping to rest in a 
 tiny park without the fortified gate. They then passed 
 over a stone bridge and through a zigzag passage which 
 crooked itself between the two great twin towers of 
 the Porte, and entered upon a deserted street lined with 
 
254 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 ancient houses, low, solid structures covered with plas- 
 ter, fronting on a narrow, mounting way paved with 
 cobbles and silent as the tomb. 
 
 The sound of their footsteps reverberated in the 
 echoing streets. Robinson ran ahead quietly on velvet 
 paws, occasionally stopping suddenly and pointing with 
 his blunt little muzzle thrust forward and one paw in 
 the air. In the deep doorways leading between the 
 thick walls into the houses nobody came or went. 
 
 " Do you suppose nobody lives here or that every- 
 body ran away with the mediseval armies? " whispered 
 Angela. Somehow it did not seem quite proper to talk 
 out loud and boldly. 
 
 " It is very melancholy," whispered Margot. " I am 
 glad we brought Robinson. Perhaps he will unearth 
 a cat." 
 
 They went on ascending, always ascending, through 
 twisting passages hardly fit to dignify by the name 
 of street ; the irregular byways of a citadel. 
 
 All at once Angela stopped and held up her hand. 
 Her ear had caught a sound. 
 
 " Listen ! " she said impressively. 
 
 A strange buzzing noise, which somehow seemed fa- 
 miliar to her but which she could not at that moment 
 place, floated down from behind the blinds shielding a 
 queer old twelfth-century casement. Margot, who was 
 somewhat behind, hastened up and stood looking at her 
 cousin, with the vague, wondering expression on her 
 face. 
 
 Whirr-whirr-whirr-whirr ! 
 
 Margot listened a second and burst out laughing. 
 
Carcasonne 255 
 
 " Why, Cousin Angela ! don't you know a sewing 
 machine when you hear one? " 
 
 The spell was broken. The dead were awake and 
 stitching busily, but not a living creature did they see 
 until they came out in front of the Chateau, where they 
 spied a shabby, solitary French soldier loafing on the 
 entrance bridge. 
 
 " It seems after all that we are not the only live thing 
 in this town with a ghost sewing machine to keep us 
 company," said Margot. 
 
 The soldier stirred into life for a minute at the sight 
 of the ladies and the dog, and then leaned back against 
 the parapet, resuming his stony attitude and looking 
 bored to death. 
 
 The Chateau at Carcasonne, a fortress within a for- 
 tress, is now, like many others in France, used as a 
 magazine. Its towers and crenelated ramparts stand 
 surrounded by a moat awaiting an enemy which never 
 comes to attack it. The open space fronting the Cha- 
 teau is sun-baked and dusty, strewn with great blocks 
 of stone left lying there when the repairs were made 
 upon the city walls. A few rough patches of coarse 
 grass grow in tufts near the solid, simple dwellings 
 which surround this open place. 
 
 " Let us hurry on," exclaimed Margot. " I am 
 afraid I shall become petrified myself. The soul has 
 gone out of this place and left the shell. Can't we find 
 somebody to talk to?" 
 
 They speedily discovered such an individual in a 
 guide lingering at the Porte de I'Aude, who was not 
 only ready but anxious to talk. It was his business. 
 
256 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Visitors were rare at this season, and rarer still on mar- 
 ket mornings. Two attractive women whose eyes spar- 
 kled with enthusiasm and curiosity, and who hung 
 breathless on the wisdom he shovelled out to them, ac- 
 companied by a small dog, who flattered him by his confi- 
 dent attention's, did not fall to this man's share every 
 day. 
 
 As Margot afterward told Mr. Hardy, this learned 
 personage began at the very bottom of the walls and 
 worked up through hundreds of years of history in 
 La Cite to the flourishing garden he himself had planted 
 with success close beside the ramparts. He was a 
 marvel of learning in archasology, and seemed intimately 
 acquainted with all the Gauls, Romans, Visigoths, Sar- 
 acens and French who had built these defences. An- 
 gela Victoria listened carefully and attentively with a 
 view to her book; but alas! she remembered none of it 
 when the time came to use it. Margot drew him out 
 because she liked to hear his rich southern accent. She 
 didn't care and didn't know anything about the shape 
 of the towers, and she never found out whether it was 
 the Saracens or the Visigoths who built the square 
 ones. 
 
 The Cite" of Carcasonne is surrounded by two lines of 
 defences. The outer wall with its rounded bastions has 
 no towers and stands much lower on the hillside than 
 the inner ramparts. It looks far beneath them, and 
 while walking around the inner circle the eye is unob- 
 structed and roves off across the broad valley to the 
 indistinct, dark form of the Black Mountains silhouetted 
 against the horizon. Inside the ramparts the silent 
 
Carcasonne 257 
 
 little crowded city shrinks away from the wall. The 
 monarch of the Middle Ages took the wise precaution 
 of forbidding buildings to be built close to the walls of 
 fortresses. 
 
 " They all passed by here, these nations," meaning the 
 lists he had just poured into their ears, " and each one 
 of them added to the strength of the citadel. We are 
 here in the path to Spain and Italy. We were as- 
 saulted, besieged and taken again and again, until the 
 time of Philippe-le-Hardi, who finally encased the Cite 
 of Carcasonne in a formidable cuirass of stone and we 
 settled down to the tranquil life of a sentinel quiet at 
 his post." 
 
 "Richard Hardy," whispered Margot in Angela's 
 ear, " isn't in it with this man for reincarnation. I 
 judge from the little sketch he has given us that he has 
 lived several thousand years without stopping." 
 
 Angela suppressed a wild desire to giggle; but for- 
 tunately the man was so absorbed in his subject that 
 he continued without noticing. " Do you know what 
 our Cite was called? Non? It was called the impreg- 
 nable * Pucelle de Languedoc,' mais out, Mesdames." 
 Nobody had disputed him. 
 
 " Carcasonne has suffered much. Did you see the 
 bust of La Dame Carcas as you came through La Porte 
 Narbonnaise? You thought it was a battered old saint, 
 hem? Mais non, Mesdames! " he laughed disdainfully. 
 "Pensez done! That old woman, a heathen, a Sara- 
 cen, kept the city and defended it against Charle- 
 magne ! " Angela and Margot expressed proper sur- 
 prise. 
 
258 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " What ! This great big place ! and only one 
 woman ! " Margot could not control her incredulity. 
 
 "Ah dame! I don't believe it was very big then. 
 Like the Chateau now, perhaps, but anyway for years, 
 oui, Mesdames, pour des armees, the great emperor be- 
 sieged it. One by one the soldiers of the garrison per- 
 ished, all the women and children died but la iiielle femme 
 Carcas. She ran from tower to tower, oien inte, oien 
 vite; let fly a javelin here, loosed an arrow there, and 
 made the besiegers believe there was a strong force 
 within. The soldiers tried to reduce the place by fam- 
 ine, but the clever old woman crushed any hopes of this 
 by throwing out a pig fattened with corn. In despair 
 the army was getting ready to retreat when a great 
 miracle occurred. One of the towers bowed to Charle- 
 magne, rendering him homage as Emperor of the West, 
 and the old woman surrendered." 
 
 " I don't wonder," said Margot. " She must have 
 been in a hurry to get out." 
 
 " Ma foi, oui," laughed the guide. " I wouldn't have 
 stayed there myself." 
 
 " That was the time when he was not around," whis- 
 pered Margot again, and this time Angela laughed out- 
 right. The guide, thinking it was at his wit, joined 
 heartily in the merriment. 
 
 "Does no one live in this city?" Angela asked the 
 guide. "Is it not inhabited?" 
 
 " Mais si, mats si! Certainly the Cite is full of peo- 
 ple, but they are all labourers and they are at work to- 
 day or at the market. That is why it is so still. But 
 it is long ago since a high offie_e.r 4 a viceregent for the 
 
Carcasonne 259 
 
 king, lived in the Chateau, and these houses sheltered 
 gay nobles. Now all the rich live in La Ville Basse, 
 where the ladies are undoubtedly stopping." 
 
 They did not lose this chance to ask this repository of 
 wise information something about the lower city. 
 
 " It is not so new," he said. " When Simon de Mont- 
 ford, who fought the Albigenses, captured the Cite 
 from the heretics in 1096 he promised them honourable 
 terms, but no sooner did he get inside the walls than 
 he hanged all the knights and robbed the citizens of 
 everything. With nothing but their shirts and breeches 
 he sent the men into exile. After these poor wreches had 
 wandered about for seven years in misery, St. Louis 
 yielded to the prayers of the good Bishop Randolphe, 
 and the king permitted them to come back on condition 
 that they would settle far from the fortress on the op- 
 posite side of the river. That is how La Ville Basse was 
 built. It was formerly surrounded by walls, but now 
 boulevards occupy that ground and the road is where 
 les lices (the place, Mesdames, between the two walls) 
 formerly ran." 
 
 Before they had mounted the first tower Angela re- 
 nounced her attempt to keep on a hat. " Does the 
 wind always blow up here? " 
 
 " Always ! " the man calmly said. " There are some 
 ladies who cannot walk around the inner ramparts as 
 you have done." 
 
 It was a long time since he had known such inter- 
 ested tourists, and he poured out all the knowledge he 
 had ever acquired for their benefit. He showed them 
 the wooden gallery which had been restored on one of 
 
260 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the towers as it was in the time when archers shot down 
 their arrows upon the attacking forces through the 
 floor, themselves shielded from any projectiles. He 
 pointed out to them the remains of the iron supports 
 for the pulleys with which the great beams were lifted 
 and forced into* the openings left in the masonry. He 
 told them how swiftly the carpenters worked, and was 
 as wise in the matter of the constructing of galleries as 
 if he had worked on them himself. Perhaps he had. 
 He described with terrifying exactness how the defend- 
 ers poured down burning oil and hot lead on the assail- 
 ants, and then suddenly announced : 
 
 "Here we are, ladies, at the Cathedral St. Nazaire, 
 which the great Bishop Randolphe founded. If you 
 wish to enter I will wait outside for you and conduct 
 you later to the exit by the Porte de VAude. It is the 
 easiest way to leave the Cite." 
 
 " I shall be glad to go somewhere and sit down," said 
 Margot. " I feel as if I had been upstairs, downstairs, 
 and through my lady's tower quite often enough for 
 one morning." 
 
 " I saw nothing to suggest ladies," said Angela, " but 
 I shall be glad, too, to rest in the quiet of this delight- 
 •ful cathedral." 
 
 On the rugged walls of this fortress-church the 
 lichen-clothed gargoyles looked down with comical grim- 
 aces on the upturned faces of the cousins. 
 
 " Isn't this the queerest, most delightful, romantic, 
 enchanting, solemn old church you ever saw ! " 
 
 Angela laughed. "You have snatched all the ad- 
 jectives but noble, so I will add that one. Can't you 
 
Carcasonne 261 
 
 fancy these old gargoyles talking to one another every 
 moonlight night and telling stories of the bloodshed 
 and pillage they had witnessed in the twelfth century 
 to the restored bits which have been put up later? " 
 
 " Yes, and interlarding their remarks with ' Before 
 the nun who used to be in your place fell away,' or 
 ' When the monkey you somewhat resemble was still be- 
 side me.' I believe those hoary, old moss-grown crea- 
 tures up there, with their ears and noses damaged by 
 the wear and tear of centuries, are horribly naughty to 
 the newcomers and tell them monstrous lies." 
 
 The cousins left these strange carved creatures to 
 their own peculiar doings and pushed through a low 
 leather door into a flood of jewelled sunshine, which 
 made the interior of the church radiant with light, 
 and dignified its austere loveliness and beautified, if 
 such a thing were possible, the marvellous Gothic choir 
 forming the arms and top of the cross which stretched 
 along under tall glass windows. The high altar is 
 in the centre, with three chapels on either side raised 
 above the transept by three long steps extending quite 
 across the church. These chapels are divided from one 
 another only by tall, graceful, springing arches. There 
 is marvellous thirteenth-century stained glass in the 
 long windows, and this end of the church is all illumined 
 by the glory of their splendid colouring. 
 
 " What a gem ! " cried Margot. Her very dearth of 
 adjectives proved her enthusiastic appreciation. 
 
 It is a martial-looking church, notwithstanding the 
 glory of colour lent by the brilliant windows. The se- 
 verity of the stonework probably excited the masons to 
 
262 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 embellish every capital and cornice with highly amusing 
 little figures calculated to distract the attention of the 
 holiest canon from his Latin missal. 
 
 " What a love of contrast and what complex natures 
 these old churcji builders must have had ! " said An- 
 gela. 
 
 " They made killingly funny figures ! " exclaimed 
 Margot, " and it must have been a great joke to them 
 when they carved their best friend's face on one of 
 those absurd little animals." 
 
 " I'll venture to say the friend did not like it ! But 
 there he is, to amuse us long after his very name has 
 been forgotten." 
 
 The exuberance of this fancy, of all these grotesque 
 caricatures, this riot of sculpture, is doubly interesting 
 against the stern severity of the simple stone arches and 
 columns which dignify this church. 
 
 " I wonder if Richard ever came here ? " whispered 
 Angela Victoria. 
 
 " No, I don't think he has ever been in this part of 
 France. I wish he was here now." 
 
 " I mean Richard Cceur de Lion," said Angela with 
 dignity. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Margot, " I thought you meant 
 Richard Hardy." 
 
 The sexton showed them about, pointing out the 
 tombs of the good bishops by whose efforts this noble 
 church was built, and, murmuring a prayer of gratitude 
 that it had been their blessed privilege to enter it, the 
 cousins passed out again into the open air. The guide 
 was waiting for them on the outside, trying to interest 
 
Carcasonrte 263 
 
 Robinson, who refused to be consoled for the absence 
 of his mistress. 
 
 The man led them through a postern gate out among 
 the defences of the barbicon and showed them the steep 
 way leading down to the little town below. 
 
 " It grows more and more interesting every minute," 
 said Margot. 
 
 " I will come here to-morrow and write. Never have 
 I seen a spot more fascinating than this empty citadel, 
 deserted by its garrison. II est bon quelquefois de rever 
 du passe." 
 
 " Perhaps, if you tried very hard, you might see a 
 Visigoth, or would you prefer a Moor? Here's a 
 small boy, now, who is black enough for any Saracen, 
 and he has a red sash on, too." 
 
 " He is a Catalan. The guide just told me with ex- 
 pressions of disdain that La Cite is full of them." 
 
 " Why doesn't he like the poor creatures? They do 
 seem poor ! " 
 
 " The only reason I could get out of him was that 
 they can't speak French." 
 
 Down in the trenches, where blood had watered the 
 soil during the crusades against the Albigenses and in 
 the very place where the rising ground made it easy for 
 Simon de Montfort to effect a breach and rush in with 
 his followers ; where, in the fiercest of fights, he had 
 captured Trencavel, the lord of Carcasonne, afterward 
 to condemn him to ignominy and death in one of his 
 own towers, a flock of sheep guarded by a faithful dog 
 was peacefully feeding as the guide led Angela and Mar^ 
 got through this spot on their way to the porte below. 
 
264 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 The lively aspect of La Ville Basse was a warm con- 
 trast to the cold, deserted solitude of the lonely coro- 
 net of towers they had left behind on the other side of 
 the bridge. Aged voters gathered around the placards 
 of vivid orange, yellow and blue which were posted 
 on the walls along the boulevards, and in rich patois 
 discussed with ample gestures the coming election. 
 
 The cousins stopped to read what was printed on 
 these violent-hued bulletins and to learn thereby some- 
 thing of the gentle art of vituperation. Each one of 
 the posters was devoted to the praise of a favourite can- 
 didate and to setting forth with vehement condemnation 
 the principles and character of his rival. 
 
 A small boy in a cook's apron and cap, the marchcmd 
 de berlmgots, was shaking his rattle to proclaim his 
 wares and then diving down into the bottom of a huge, 
 drum-like box to fish out with the dignity of a superior 
 tradesman, for a crowd of clamouring youngsters, some 
 of the appetising cakes he had for sale. 
 
 The smaller cafes were full of vivacious peasants 
 talking excitedly at their dejeuner. The Place Carnot 
 was a confusion of flowers, fruits and attractive-look- 
 ing vegetables; while in the market place near the en- 
 trance to the hotel people were surging to and fro, 
 collecting in goups around the pedlars, who tried to 
 outdo one another by their cries. 
 
 The din of La Ville Basse was as great a contrast to 
 the silence of La Cite they had left as was its gai- 
 ety to the quiet sadness of the deserted mediaeval 
 fortress. 
 
 When they went in to the dining-room of the hotel 
 
Carcasonne 265 
 
 it was crowded with numerous guests, who may have 
 been travelling salesmen or prosperous vine cultivators 
 from the country surrounding Carcasonne, but the main 
 topic of conversation with one and all of them was the 
 election, and through the hubbub of voices the names 
 of the rival candidates were the only words distinguish- 
 able. The waiters flew around the tables serving a 
 breakfast which it was no insult to call a sumptuous 
 dinner. The rich, rolling accent of Provence was heard 
 on all sides. Robinson, who smuggled himself in with 
 his mistress, cautiously protruded his bullet-like head 
 from under the table to sniff at a tiny, rat-like dog, all 
 bells and furbelows, who belonged to a remarkable look- 
 ing woman with suspiciously glowing auburn hair. This 
 lady ate most of her meal by picking tit-bits with her 
 own fork out of the plates of her two escorts, and ap- 
 peared to find it impossible to get along at all without 
 the aid of the table to support for her elbows. She 
 picked her miniature terrier up and, without even the 
 ceremony of a glance, stuck the unfortunate little dog- 
 gie behind her in the chair, where the wretched little 
 prisoner remained in a most uncomfortable position 
 looking down through the bars with a mortified expres- 
 sion in answer to Robinson's unconcealed surprise. This 
 lady was leading actress of Carcasonne, a second Sara 
 Bernhardt, in the eyes of herself and Clotilde, from 
 whom Margbt gathered this valuable piece of gossip. 
 Bijou, the terrier, had appeared on the boards in a more 
 conspicuous position than he occupied in the dining- 
 room, and was a popular favourite. 
 
 Margot had never seen a provincial market day, and 
 
266 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 to Angela's remembrances the one which she had wit- 
 nessed in Poitiers appeared sad and sober compared t5 
 the surging movement and gaiety of Carcasonne. The 
 pavement of the open square was adorned with the same 
 motley heaps of ribbon, only, where at Poitiers there 
 had been molehills, here there were mountains. 
 
 Enticing earthenware cooking utensils looked their 
 most attractive, spread out on a brilliant red cloth. 
 Margot hovered above the display with longing eyes. 
 "I should like to take a dozen of those casseroles and 
 bouillotes home; cooked in that rich brown, glazed lin- 
 ing, with the rough, snowy exterior, the poorest food 
 would turn to ambrosia or whatever it was the gods used 
 to eat." 
 
 " We'll buy a few specimens, anyway," said unresist- 
 ing Angela, who at once burdened herself with a bulky 
 parcel to be tucked away at some future time in a shawl- 
 strap or perhaps broken on the journey. Fakirs were 
 selling Waterbury watches, to which they ascribed 
 most wonderful qualities, and getting rid of them as rap- 
 idly as they held them up, while beating a drum, as Mar- 
 got observed, " to drown the tick of the watch." 
 
 Two dark-eyed individuals, each of whom wore on 
 his curly Semitic head a tall red fez, were selling " pour 
 un rien cutlery of the Orient " — made in France. These 
 poor men's voices had degenerated into a mere harsh 
 croak through their overloud shouting in praise of their 
 ■wares. 
 
 Pots, pans, jewelry conveniently cheap, clothing for 
 both sexes, dainty frilled caps made of the sheerest mus- 
 lin for coquettish peasant women, postal cards, toys 
 
Carcasonne 267 
 
 for Bebe and little Philippe, piles of embroidered felt 
 slippers, filled booth after booth and did not lack pur- 
 chasers. 
 
 " There is meat, poultry, eggs and cheese enough 
 here to stock a fortress for a month ! And all so fresh 
 and clean ! " said Margot, coming out after a visit to 
 the covered market. 
 
 Angela had meantime been trying to talk with a 
 •woman selling delicious sweetmeats; she had selected 
 some delicately candied quince and asked the price. 
 " Ung sou," the peasant answered with a bright smile. 
 Angela praised her wares, but the conversation was not 
 proceeding very rapidly. The old woman was clearly 
 not at home in the French tongue. To her purchaser's 
 many questions she answered sweetly: " Oui, Madame," 
 without variation. 
 
 Margot listened a moment to the halting conversa- 
 tion, and putting a sweetmeat between her white teeth, 
 said: 
 
 " Rachachiminaya! " 
 
 It was the only word of Provencal she knew, but it 
 broke the ice. The woman put her hands on her hips 
 and roared with laughter, then pretending to pull away 
 Margot's hands from her mouth, she offered her a piece 
 of chocolate, shaking with glee. 
 
 " V oleic ung vrai rachachiminaya." (" Here is a 
 true chimney sweep!") 
 
 " That is a most useful word, Margot, as a solitary 
 inroad into a language," said Angela. " Where did 
 you learn it? " 
 
 " From my nurse. It may not be practical, but I 
 
268 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 liked the sound and never could remember any of the 
 more serviceable phrases she tried to teach me." 
 
 The green, orange, blue and red election pasters, 
 which proclaimed Monsieur S. an honourable, truthful, 
 patriotic man, and Messieurs C, D., E., and F. all dis- 
 credited and proven corrupters of political morals, were 
 more popular than ribbons or the less novel market com- 
 modities, and were surrounded by changing groups of 
 peasants, mostly women. The woman cannot vote in 
 France, but she has ever been a strong power in that 
 land, where her clear commercial instinct has placed her 
 in an almost equal position with man. She takes a more 
 violent interest in politics, knows less about them, and is 
 more inconsequent than any of her sisters in foreign 
 lands. The old women who could not read, and there are 
 still many in the Midi, were gathering what knowledge 
 was dispensed to them by the better schooled members of 
 the younger generation and lamenting at the same mo- 
 ment that they benefited by its results, that compulsory 
 education has brought liberal views to France. The 
 army was in great disfavour with these aged agitators. 
 As the cousins paused near an excited group around a 
 placard, one of the withered old countrywomen turned 
 to a passing soldier, a harmless youth, himself the son of 
 a peasant, and, shaking her fist, called out to him with 
 vehement gesture: 
 
 " On va me prendre mon Dieu! Voila bien la libertS 
 que vous m'avez donne! " (They are taking my God 
 from me. Behold the liberty you have given me !) 
 
 This phrase sounded very fine, but the old woman 
 had actually not the remotest idea of what she was talk- 
 
Carcasonne 269 
 
 ing about. As for the poor young soldier lad, he 
 looked surprised and disconcerted. 
 
 The cousins left the noisy market and strolled into 
 some of the attractive shops lining the streets. They 
 wandered gradually out to the little Jardin des Plantes, 
 where the diligences, innocent of paint and varnish, 
 stood waiting to take back their loads of peasants to 
 Aigues Vives or Prieux. These antiquated convey- 
 ances are decayed Ommbuses des Chemins de Fer worn 
 out with usage in Paris, which have been rusticated 
 and are laden down with funny imperials and seats on 
 the top to hold peasants, instead of the heavy trunks 
 of the transatlantic traveller. The fat, lazy horses, 
 much too sleek for duty, slept with their noses in a 
 feed bag while awaiting their owners or purchasers. 
 In the saddlers' shops of this part of the town an end- 
 less variety of the cleverly made beautiful leather-horned 
 horse collars were exposed for sale. 
 
 Margot patronised not one but half a dozen patis- 
 series, buying cakes in each. " I simply cannot resist 
 them, Cousin Angela," she said. " We will have Clo- 
 tilde make us some tea. We will all sit on the broad 
 window seat, and what I don't eat, Robinson can have." 
 When they got back to the hotel Clotilde frowned 
 upon the idea of tea and recommended coffee. " Seri- 
 ously, tea is only fit for invalids," she said; therefore, 
 not being quite sure what variety of herb she would 
 brew them for tea, they decided in favour of coffee. The 
 window looked out into the arcade, where business was 
 still brisk enough to entertain them. Almost directly 
 under them a lad of decidedly Israelitish cast of coun- 
 
270 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 tenance was selling coarse lace curtains whose beauty 
 he displayed by holding them aloft on his yardstick, 
 and then draping these luxuries gracefully back with its 
 aid into folds. He was shrieking himself hoarse crying 
 in a sing-song fashion : " Trois sous le metre! " 
 
 A fixed, gentle smile on his countenance never relaxed 
 for an instant ; he threw its sunny beam on a crowd of 
 small boys who stood like stone images staring in front 
 of him, and won by its warm sweetness the favour of the 
 peasant women, who bargained furiously for his wares. 
 In a race of tradespeople he was the tradesman par ex- 
 cellence. His piping treble was drowned occasionally 
 by the deep bass tones of another member of his nation 
 who stood at a short distance and with vehement, elo- 
 quent gestures swore that the curtains he sold were in- 
 finitely superior, and only a few centimes dearer. The 
 whole performance was a comedy, and sharp as French 
 peasants usually are, they were completely fooled on this 
 occasion. When the boy called out his price, the older 
 man would leave his wares and stride over to the boy, 
 if the female crowd displayed any uncertainty in buy- 
 ing, and, standing before the lad, he would lift his 
 shoulders and both his hands with an inimitable gesture 
 of immense surprise, calling upon high heaven in. stenr 
 torian tones to witness that? ""Trow sous le mdtrel 
 Trois sous! Ja/amm je n'ai vu ca!" (Three sous a 
 metre! ©Wry three sous — never have I heard of such 
 a~l£r5ig!) a remark which never failed in its effect. 
 
 Margot and Angela were so amused and interested 
 by this farce that they forgot their gouter, and so Rob- 
 inson got most of the cake and some of the coffee. The 
 
Carcasonne 271 
 
 curtains sold so fast that more had to be secretly 
 brought over from the other man's table. Although a 
 competitor in public, in private the gentleman was evi- 
 dently the father of the family. 
 
 In less than half an hour the new supply thus ob- 
 tained having vanished, a sister from another part of 
 the arcade brought her curtains into the field, and the 
 cousins, quite as delighted as though they were to profit 
 by the results, finally saw the reunited family, pretended 
 rivalry thrown to the winds, go off with empty ham- 
 pers but plenty of money, each munching a cake and 
 congratulating one another on the profits of their Sab- 
 bath day. 
 
 The market began to break up. The booths were 
 cleared away and a policeman appeared commanding 
 a small company of old crones armed with brooms, the 
 street cleaning department of Carcasonne, whom he mar- 
 shalled about with such severity that in an incredibly 
 short time the only sign of the busy throng remaining 
 was a great green-covered carrier's cart to which the 
 tiniest donkey ever seen was attached, who, finding 
 himself alone, gave voice to his loneliness in melan- 
 choly song. When they came out from dinner the 
 moonlight poured into the courtyard, and Angela Vic- 
 toria hurried Margot to the bridge as soon as she fin- 
 ised her coffee to see the Cite in the full effulgence of 
 that clear, brilliant southern moon. A liquid flood of 
 silver bathed the tower-crowned hill, around them was 
 silence, and the citadel looked still more mysterious and 
 unearthly in the white light. 
 
 There is some soft quality in the moon ray which 
 
272 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 opens the heart and unfolds the confidence. Margot 
 sat looking down into the water while Angela gazed 
 up at the ghostly fortress. 
 
 " I never used to care much for moonlight, but now 
 I adore it. Don't you, Cousin Angela?" 
 
 " No, dear ; not always. It is too sad." 
 
 " Oh, Cousin Angela, then you were never in 
 love! You would never speak that way if you had 
 been!" 
 
 " What makes you say that? What do you know 
 about love? " 
 
 " I know all about it. I am in love now. Horribly 
 in love!" 
 
 Angela tried, not very successfully, to laugh at 
 her. 
 
 " You didn't suspect it, did you, Cousin Angela? " 
 
 The vision of Richard Hardy's face rose before her 
 eyes. She was silent. 
 
 Margot, full of her all-absorbing topic, went on 
 quickly. " I have been in love for a year." 
 
 " No wonder she will never be parted from Robin- 
 son ; it was at that time he gave her the dog," thought 
 Angela. 
 
 " I think it will come out all right now. Mamma 
 had other plans for me; but I believe she is beginning 
 to give in. Poor Mamma! She wants me to marry a 
 young Frenchman. But I can't please her this time. 
 That's why I begged to come with you. I didn't want 
 to have any more fuss about him. Now you know 
 half of my secret, and when something happens you 
 shall be the first to know it all. Oh, I am so happy! 
 
Carcasonne 273 
 
 See, even the moon is laughing ! " She was very vague 
 in her confidences, but Angela asked no further ques- 
 tions. 
 
 " Dear child, I wish you all the happiness possible on 
 earth." 
 
 Margot, her mind flying off after a dearer person, 
 did not hear the slight note of despondency in her cous- 
 in's tones, but she demurred when, with a last long look 
 at the sleeping fortress, Angela Victoria left her seat 
 on the parapet and said: 
 
 " Let us go back. I have promised myself to do a 
 whole chapter of my book to-night! You can tell the 
 moon love stories from the window." 
 
 Margot put her arm around her cousin's waist and, 
 ignoring the last remark, said : " And you will read all 
 your work to me, won't you? I have always longed to 
 be the very first to listen to a celebrated book. You are 
 sure to write well. You are such a dear." 
 
 Although popularity in literature does not always 
 follow exactly the lines Margot ascribed to it, Angela 
 Victoria accepted the prophecy with becoming modesty 
 and her usual hopefulness. 
 
 " I do hope people will like it," she answered thought- 
 fully. 
 
 The electric light quite chased the more reduced rays 
 of the moon out of the contracted highways and by- 
 ways of the lower city. The streets were lively with 
 swarms of people. 
 
 In the window of an antique shop a lovely old comb 
 brought forth a flood of enthusiastic adjectives from 
 Margot's ready tongue. 
 
274 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " You shall have it," said her cousin, " for your en- 
 gagement present." She entered and asked the price. 
 It was expensive. 
 
 " I haven't the money with me to-night, but I will 
 come and get it to-morrow," she told the shopkeeper. 
 Margot blushed. 
 
 " You mustn't give, it to me too soon, Cousin An- 
 gela. I'm not officially engaged yet. It might bring 
 bad luck!" 
 
 " I shan't bring you bad luck, dear. I could not 
 bear it. You shall have the comb to wear in your dark 
 hair when you bring your lover to be congratulated," 
 said Angela as they reached the hotel. 
 
 To the surprise of the waiter lounging before the 
 entrance, Margot stooped down and gave her cousin 
 a kiss on each cheek. 
 
 Later in the evening Margot, in a soft pink negligee, 
 her own and Angela's pillows stuffed behind her back, 
 sat on the bed with her knees drawn up, absorbing knowl- 
 edge from " La Guide Joanne " ; from " Viollet-le- 
 Duc's " learned pamphlet on " La Cite de Carcasonne " 
 and Hare's " Southwestern France," and repeating : 
 
 " I do like to read these books after I have seen the 
 places." 
 
 Angela had cleared away the roomy writing table 
 and was unlocking her trunk. 
 
 " Georgina was right about luggage. She is so 
 clever. She says we all need so little. I haven't even 
 seen this trunk since we left Brive, and I have not 
 wanted one of the things I packed into it there." 
 
 Margot laughed. " I thought the contents were 
 principally brass." 
 
Carcasonne 275 
 
 " Shame on you ! I only bought two pieces." 
 
 Angela shook out the clothing she had wrapped 
 around the jugs. 
 
 " They are not dented anywhere, but oh ! " 
 
 She rummaged excitedly in the bottom of the trunk, 
 then sat down in a heap on the floor. Margot jumped 
 up, overcome with amazement. 
 
 " What is the matter, Cousin Angela ? " 
 
 " Oh, what shall I do ! I have lost all my note books 
 and my money ! I must have left it all in Brive ! The 
 portfolio with my express checks and everything! 
 Perhaps someone has stolen them out of my trunk. 
 What shall I do, what shall I do ? " She struggled up 
 on her knees, with wild despair in her eyes. " Every 
 cent I have or expect to have for the next three months, 
 my whole income, has disappeared ! What will Georgina 
 say?" 
 
 Even in this terrible crisis, the fear of Georgina's 
 just indignation was uppermost in her mind. 
 
 Now thoroughly aroused, Margot bounded to the aid 
 of her excited cousin. Robinson rose anxiously from 
 his corner and joined the group. Pushing Angela 
 aside, the young girl began carefully to take every- 
 thing out of the small trunk, to shake every pair of 
 gloves, look into the shoes, while Angela still sat a pic- 
 ture of unhappy melancholy. 
 
 "Where did you put the checks? What did the 
 thing look like they were in? " 
 
 " They were all in a black, flat case," Angela stam- 
 mered. " I can't remember where I put that." 
 
 " Think hard, Cousin Angela, where was it you 
 cashed your last check? " 
 
276 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 " I drew some money at Argenton." They both sat 
 silently meditating for a few minutes. At last Mar- 
 got said: "Well, we won't let Cousin Georgina know! 
 I will telegraph to mamma for money at once ! " And 
 then Angela's memory suddenly awakened. 
 
 " Oh, I reniember now! " she cried. " I put that 
 case, together with my pencils, my note book and some 
 thin writing pads, in a leather box your mother once 
 gave me. I must have left it all in Brive ! " 
 
 To her surprise Margot burst out in a fit of laughter. 
 
 " Found at last, but far away ! " she exclaimed. 
 " Don't you remember, you dear, vague thing, that you 
 gave me several packages to put away. You wanted 
 to get that brass stuff into your trunk." 
 
 " Oh, how could I have been so stupid as to forget ! 
 I am losing all the small wits I ever had! How glad 
 I am it's not lost ! Do give me the letter case at once." 
 
 " I wish I could," sheepishly murmured Margot, 
 " but I gave it and the contents of the entire box to 
 Mr. Hardy to put in his big bag. I found I could not 
 squeeze it in among my own things. 
 
 " Ah ! " It was a genuine note of despair that 
 sounded again in Angela's voice. " We are just as 
 badly off as before. How can we get the checks? " 
 
 " That is easy enough. We can telegraph him to- 
 morrow. I know where he is. He will send it at once, 
 and we shall get it on Monday and be away from here 
 on the day Cousin Georgina commanded us to go." 
 Angela's face looked so sad that Margot tried some 
 nonsense to bring back her smiles. " Only wait with 
 your book until we get off on that wedding journey, you 
 
Carcasonne 277 
 
 and I and Dickey! Oh, then you can write! It will 
 be so much more interesting, and you can read the 
 manuscript to us every day. We can go on as leis- 
 urely as we choose, and not be obliged to flash through 
 the country to catch up with Cousin Georgina as we 
 have been doing these last few days." 
 
 Angela tried her best to enter into the spirit of Mar- 
 got's humour. " Oh, but then I couldn't see half as 
 much ! When I get in an automobile I only want to go 
 — go — go — all the time." She was thinking of that ride 
 from Poitiers to Le Blanc. "I can't write to-night, 
 of course ; I have no paper now. But fortunately, for 
 me, all the shops in France do not close on Sunday, so 
 I can buy what I need to-morrow." She sighed with- 
 out reason. 
 
 Not only do the good people of Carcasonne open their 
 shops, but on Sunday the market was as lively as on the 
 previous day. Angela Victoria, after passing a very 
 uneasy night, looked out early upon the square. The 
 fakirs and the curtain sellers were absent, probably en- 
 joying a delightful Sunday on their profits of the day 
 before; and the grey stones were no longer brightened 
 by piles of gay ribbons ; but other merchants had taken 
 their places. Where the curtains were sold the day be- 
 fore an old cobbler sat busily in a booth tapping away 
 with the implements of his trade at a good stock of worn 
 shoes. Early as it was, a well-dressed young woman was 
 pacing slowly up and down under the arcade with the 
 skirt of her smart frock lifted very high to display 
 a pair of clumsy, grey felt shoes, and awaken if pos- 
 sible a desire in the hearts of the women who passed to 
 
278 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 buy a pair of the same sort from a rich store heaped 
 upon an adjacent table. 
 
 Clotilde lingered over the breakfast table and talked 
 despondently about the result of the election until it 
 was time for the cousins to go out. While she was 
 chattering, Margot stole quietly downstairs and sent a 
 telegram, then told Angela not to worry, that every- 
 thing was right, so when they went out that dear, easy- 
 going lady bought a generous pad for immediate use in 
 her novitiate as an authoress. The cousins seated them- 
 selves in the pretty little park now called the Square 
 Gambetta, which probably had formerly some delicious 
 romantic name. It is opposite the combined school- 
 house and museum, which on that day was being used 
 for the polls. More of the showy placards had been 
 posted for election purposes during the night. Every 
 available space on walls and public buildings was cov- 
 ered with them. Before the bureau d'election on either 
 side of the wide door, and stretching across the gravel 
 path between the houses and the trees of the boulevard, 
 sat. six men, all very quietly and orderly on six rush- 
 bottomed chairs. They solemnly presented every voter 
 who passed them going into the polls with a slip of 
 paper bearing the name of some certain candidate. 
 Of those who ran this gauntlet, a few took all the 
 slips; others took one or two; the others rejected 
 all the proffered tickets. These slips had no bearing 
 upon the election beyond suggesting a name. A con- 
 stant stream of peasants in their glossy Sunday 
 blouses, workingmen in their best clothes, and shop- 
 keepers passed in and out to vote. Near by a solitary 
 
Carcasonne 279 
 
 and very magnificent gendarme lingered; a crowd of 
 boys and women, which increased as the people came 
 from church to swell the throng, stopped before the 
 bureau, under the trees and lingered a while ; but except 
 for one loud-talking group gathered about the boot- 
 black stand at the street corner, none of the political 
 excitement the cousins hoped to see exhibited itself. 
 
 Some few of the voters went to the placards and read 
 the cutting accusations and high recommendations set 
 forth by each candidate in his own peculiar and vehe- 
 ment style. A couple of gaudy soldiers in uniform and 
 several black-robed priests gave colour to the crowd. 
 One eager fisherman on his way to the river laden with 
 net and rod passed by without a glance. What cared 
 he for Republicans, Royalists or Church party when the 
 fish were waiting to bite? 
 
 On the park bench they had taken, two old ladies sat 
 beside the cousins. These dear old persons lamented 
 bitterly over the frightful disasters they had been told 
 awaited the church. Margot and Angela endeavoured 
 to dispel the despair in their souls, by judicious praise 
 of the churches in the Ville Basse, and nearly banished 
 the election and the terrors predicted for France from 
 the old ladies' minds. To divert their minds, Angela 
 asked them questions about La Cite, bringing to light 
 the astonishing statement that although one of them 
 had been born here in Carcasonne never had she been to 
 the La Cite in her life; while the second considered it 
 only a show place for tourists. 
 
 " I have climbed there once or twice with visitors 
 from Toulouse," said the more enterprising one of the 
 
280 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 two, "but it is a long way even in a carriage, et je 
 u'aime pas voyager." 
 
 The old ladies could find no beauty in fortified walls 
 and towers. " It is all right for foreigners ; but pour 
 nous autres, what do we want of such sights? La Ville 
 Basse is much more beautiful." 
 
 After luncheon Angela left Margot writing letters, 
 and, armed with her splendid new note book, ample 
 enough to hold all the thoughts she could jot down in a 
 week, with a pencil and penknife, she prepared to pass a 
 delicious afternoon somewhere among the heights in the 
 old fortress. 
 
 " Please take Robinson, he's no bother ; he will play 
 about while you write, and later I will join you if you 
 can tell me where to find you? Shall you be inside or 
 outside of the ramparts?" 
 
 " Neither. I shall be in the trenches between the 
 two, on the oldest part of the wall I can find, where, pro- 
 tected from the wind, I can look over the wide valley 
 and gain inspiration from the beauty of the landscape 
 and the wonderful circling walls above me." 
 
 " In some romantic corner where you can peep out 
 through the openings where the archers shot their ar- 
 rows? Never mind; I'll find you, and after you have 
 written enough we'll hunt up the old guide of yesterday 
 and see some more of that delicious cathedral. Good 
 inspiration ! Be sure and dedicate this chapter to me." 
 
 The citadel was more silent and deserted when An- 
 gela Victoria reached it than it had been the previous 
 afternoon. The inhabitants of the crowded little town 
 were all down in the street at the foot of the hill, where 
 
CARCASSONNE 
 
 AN OLD COUPLE OP MARKET-FOLK 
 
 A POLITICAL DISCUSSION 
 A PROUD DONKEY 
 
Carcasonne 281 
 
 she passed walls as thickly decorated with gay election 
 placards as were those of the town on the other bank of 
 the river. The names of the candidates alone were dif- 
 ferent; the crude green, blue, yellow, pink and purple 
 colours were just the same. 
 
 Angela had her thoughts filled with Margot and her 
 love affair. She was oppressed by a feeling of misery 
 and loneliness she tried in vain to throw off as she 
 climbed the paved way of the ancient barbican to the 
 Porte de l'Aude. Her feet were so heavy that Robin- 
 son had raced up and down four times before she was 
 half way to the top. Bored by vain attempts to hurry 
 his companion's footsteps, the little dog crouched like 
 a rabbit on a stone waiting for her, and looking so 
 comical that he succeeded in reviving her spirits and 
 forcing her to join him in a race to the top. When 
 they reached the walls they saw crowded on the lower 
 step of a gloomy postern gate two baby children, the 
 Sunday garrison of La Cite, who had been left by their 
 parents to play with a dirty but beloved doll. Angela 
 found directly opposite them a comfortable spot 
 which she thought would call forth her literary inspira- 
 tion. She seated herself in a sheltered angle of the 
 bastion, while Robinson, disgusted at her desertion, 
 cautiously approached and smelled the doll, to be greeted 
 with cries of combined glee and terror by the babies. 
 
 Where the sentinels of olden times paced the outer 
 defences and looked over the wide country for ap- 
 proaching enemies, the wall has a raised shelf on the 
 inner side, enabling the archers to spring up and 
 discharge their arrows at an advancing foe through 
 
282 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the crenelations in the outer wall. Angela Victoria, 
 safe from the wind in one of these corners, with a step 
 at her feet and a wall at her back and a round peephole 
 through which she could look out far over the golden 
 distance, opened her immaculate note book, examined 
 her pencil, smiled quietly to herself as she thought of 
 the single line she had written that night in Saumur. 
 Nothing so commonplace would she jot down now. She 
 glanced over the landscape again where shining in the 
 clear valley she could see from her watch tower the many- 
 coloured roofs of new Carcasonne, and then thought a 
 moment intently. But she must write! She would 
 write! And almost unconsciously while Robinson was 
 engaged in an attack and retreat, his small, short barks 
 mingling with the now hilarious cries of the babies, her 
 pencil traced some deliciously poetical words. They 
 came readily. She read them carefully over. They 
 were lovely ; the ideas were unusual, but they had a ring 
 which was too familiar. Again she read them, and sud- 
 denly discovered that they really belonged to some au- 
 thor whom she could not at that moment place; either 
 Symons or Robert Louis Stevenson. She had only pulled 
 her literary efforts out of the storehouse of her mem- 
 ory; again she tried to concentrate her thoughts, but 
 her mind refused to leave Margot and Richard. The 
 girl was so youthful! Why had she not chosen a 
 younger husband? She remembered how she had ig- 
 nored the conventionalities, and accused herself bitterly 
 of having failed in her duty by allowing him to travel 
 with them. " Propinquity, propinquity is always so 
 dangerous," was what Georgina said. And Angela had 
 
'Carcasonne 283 
 
 forgotten this wise saying, because she, forsooth, took 
 pleasure in Richard's society. With an attempt at re- 
 gretfulness, she secretly confessed this crime to herself. 
 She became very enraged at him ; the idea that he had 
 deceived her, used her as a convenience — how, she did 
 not know — but she was sure he had used her as a con- 
 venience, incensed her very much. She could not blame 
 Margot, but Mr. Hardy was old enough to know better. 
 He had treated her very inconsiderately. It was ex- 
 tremely cruel. She began to feel very sorry for her- 
 self. She wished above all things that they had never 
 met him. To be sure he was agreeable and useful and 
 she could not altogether hate him ; she had done wrong, 
 but how, she did not know, for even Georgina could not 
 have considered three or four days a very long time 
 to permit a man who had a perfect right to go wher- 
 ever he chose, to remain in their company. Still, she 
 was responsible in a way for the girl's conduct ; and if 
 she could live the last week over, she would behave 
 much more wisely, she was sure. How indignant Geor- 
 gina would be! It was evident Margot's parents dis- 
 approved of the match, otherwise why was her engage- 
 ment not announced? Angela had a vague, guilty 
 sense of having made some serious blunder. She went 
 on, growing more and more indignant. She was angry 
 with herself, but she was much more angry with Rich- 
 ard Hardy. 
 
 At this point of her uneasy meditation Robinson, 
 whose playing with the babies had consisted in ap- 
 proaching as nearly as was safe to the much-desired 
 dollie and then being warded off from his prey by four 
 
284 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 sturdy little feet, suddenly stopped his attack and gave 
 vent to a perfect shower of sharp barks, shook his little 
 frame and danced past Angela out behind the wall onto 
 the barbican. 
 
 Angela peered around the corner without rising, ex- 
 pecting to see 'Margot, but to her horror she beheld 
 Richard Hardy's tall figure advancing upon her. Her 
 first impulse was to rise and fly, but surprise chained 
 her to the spot; there was no escape. With Robinson 
 leaping about him begging to be noticed, Richard strode 
 forward to where she sat, greeting her with a smile. He 
 held aloft her flat portfolio containing the checks. 
 
 " I knew Robinson would help me find you. Good 
 doggie. Margot told me you were up here somewhere, 
 so I took my chance. I really came to bring you this." 
 He gave her the purse, which she took without a word. 
 " I hope you've not worried about it ; I thought it held 
 some of Margot's nonsense, and I looked inside the 
 cover for the first time last night to see if it was worth 
 sending her by mail. Then I realised how important 
 it would be to you, and started this morning by the 
 first train I could get." 
 
 " You got the telegram? " 
 
 " I got no telegram ; I started too early, although 
 Margot says you sent one." 
 
 " It was Margot who sent it," Angela said, with 
 dignity. " It was very stupid of me to put that box 
 in her care." Her head began to swim. " I am so 
 careless — Georgina — I was afraid it had been stolen — 
 I was horribly worried ! " How confused and stupid 
 she felt! 
 
Carcasonne 285 
 
 " That is why I insisted upon bringing it up here 
 to you at once instead of leaving it with Margot at 
 the hotel. She told me I would find you somewhere in 
 this fortress of silence." He looked around and 
 seemed inclined to sit down beside her, but she gave him 
 no encouragement. " Are these tiny guardians the only 
 men-at-arms left? How majestic the deserted old place 
 looks ! Is it waiting for its garrison to wake up from 
 the dead and stir the echoes of these grey walls with 
 trumpet and drum ? " Angela hardly heard him. 
 
 " It was so kind of you " she began to murmur. 
 
 " There was no necessity for you to hurry and travel 
 here on my account. You could have posted this case." 
 
 He smiled. " And left you without money ! You see, 
 I had looked inside. That is how I happened to know 
 the case was not Margot's; your name was on the 
 checks. Had I waited to send it you might have had 
 worry and inconvenience. I would never wish to cause 
 you either." 
 
 She looked up to thank him, but before she had 
 opened her lips he put up his hands, as if to ward off 
 her gratitude. Instead, he laughed gently, and, looking 
 down into her eyes, said: 
 
 " I will confess my selfish soul to you ! I did this all 
 for my own sake. I was glad of any excuse to come 
 back ; in fact, I was longing for one, and searching for 
 something that would bring me here without displeas- 
 ing you. Never have I spent such happy days in my 
 life as those I passed last week." 
 
 Angela Victoria's heart stood still for a minute. A 
 sharp pain pierced it like a knife. Was he, too, going 
 
286 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 to confide in her? She tremblingly waited for what 
 might follow. 
 
 " Now that I've brought you back your money may 
 I not claim a reward? " He smiled down on her plead- 
 ingly. " Please don't send me off again ! " 
 
 Angela struggled to her feet. She said, with a start, 
 half stammering, half sobbing : " Oh ! — I must — I can't 
 — I ought not — I really cannot — it would not be right ! 
 I am very sorry we travelled with you ! Oh, no, I don't 
 mean just that! I thank you so much for bringing 
 my money ! It was so good of you ! — I am very grate- 
 ful, but I cannot let you stay now — I really must 
 not!" 
 
 She sank down again on the stone step. Never had 
 poor dear Angela Victoria been more explosive in her 
 life ; never more vague in expression ; never more erratic 
 in speech. Her heart was beating, her face flushed crim- 
 son. She felt she was a coward. Although no tears 
 fell, the moisture was very near her eyelids. This was 
 the climax of a train of unconscious mental anxiety 
 started by Margot's confidences of the previous 
 evening. 
 
 Richard Hardy stood overcome with surprise. His 
 face was very serious. For a few minutes he did not 
 speak. 
 
 Angela watched the shadow from a cloud over 
 the " Tour de la Justice." How gloomy the battered 
 old tower looked! 
 
 When he spoke he seemed to be muttering to himself, 
 but she heard him perfectly. " I did not know you dis- 
 liked me so much." 
 
Carcasonne 287 
 
 His tone excited her to reply. Her words came 
 faster and faster, but her phrases were more involved 
 than before. 
 
 "I do! — I mean — oh, no! Oh, please don't think I 
 dislike you — it is not for that reason ! I wish you every 
 kind of good wish — I enjoyed — having you with us — 
 but I cannot, I ought not — I will not let you stay now. 
 It is not right," she said, with a sudden spurt. Poor 
 Angela was trying to copy the dignity of Georgina; 
 she drew herself up and looked severe. Richard con- 
 tinued to gaze down at her with an inscrutable expres- 
 sion in his eyes. 
 
 "Not right?" he asked, slowly. He seemed about 
 to speak again, then to change his mind. She was 
 silent. He turned away abruptly, lifting his hat. 
 
 " Very well, since you command me I will go," and 
 he had passed the rampart and was half down the 
 Barbican road before she could think of anything to 
 say. Robinson left the babies and raced after Richard, 
 following for a short distance, but in obedience to a 
 sharp "Go back!" he returned dejectedly and lay 
 down at Angela's feet. 
 
 Angela almost mechanically stepped up again on to 
 the rampart, and kneeling down, leaned out between the 
 crenelations and gazed after Hardy until he disap- 
 peared amid the red-roofed houses of the lower street. 
 She rested her head in her hands. 
 
 Georgina was right ! She was not fit to travel alone. 
 What a tangle she had made of everything! At that 
 moment she was suffering physical agony; her head 
 felt light; her eyes hot and stinging, and she wanted 
 
288 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 to cry. Tears did not come readily. With all her sen- 
 timental temperament Angela Victoria was not one of 
 those who weep. 
 
 She continued to stare down at the road for fully five 
 minutes; then her duties as a chaperon, her responsi- 
 bility to Margot'* mother, her awe of Georgina's anger 
 suddenly possessed her mind; and suspecting Richard 
 Hardy would go straight to Margot and that Margot 
 would ignore those conventionalities which had so sud- 
 denly become important to Angela, she quickly took 
 up her recovered portfolio, which had dropped unheeded 
 on the stones, and started down the hill at such a 
 furious pace that Robinson, believing he was in for a 
 game of romps, behaved in his most riotous manner. 
 
 Her new note book, with its beautiful borrowed senti- 
 ment, had slipped from her lap on seeing Richard, and 
 lies to this day in a crevice of the old Cite of Car- 
 casonne. 
 
 She reached the bridge in an incredibly short time, 
 but Hardy's stalwart form had vanished; over the 
 Square Gambetta she hurried, and then down the Grande 
 Rue. Hardy was nowhere within sight on the long, 
 straight street. The crowd of loungers looked at her 
 in amazement as she rushed by. She began to walk 
 a trifle slower, feeling encouraged. He could not be in 
 the hotel; he had not had time to get there. Perhaps 
 he had lost his way. Angela Victoria so often lost the 
 way herself that she suspected every one else of the 
 same weakness. When she finally entered the hotel her 
 manner was so excited that the waiter, who was wiling 
 away his time by gently waving a watering pot to and 
 
Carcasonne 289 
 
 fro over the courtyard foliage, stopped his labour and 
 stared at her in surprise. 
 
 " Has any gentleman been here to ask for Made- 
 moiselle? " 
 
 " No, Madame, not recently. A gentleman came 
 nearly an hour ago. I called Mademoiselle and he 
 drank coffee on the terrace while he talked. They sat 
 there, Madame." He pointed out a certain table as if 
 it were of the greatest importance. He scented mys- 
 tery and romance and felt compelled to quiet madame's 
 mind. She grew anxious. 
 
 After she hurried rapidly into the house he still 
 stood shaking his head, and a senseless stream poured 
 from the watering pot he held suspended in midair. 
 
 Margot rose to meet her cousin when she entered 
 the room. 
 
 " Well, Cousin Angela," she began, gaily ; but her 
 face fell when she saw the cloud on that lady's counte- 
 nance. Her cousin, usually so joyous, looked positively 
 glum. 
 
 "Why! Have you come back so soon? I thought 
 you and Richard would be climbing towers and enthus- 
 ing about a medley of history, romance and other won- 
 derful things. I was coming by and by to join you, 
 and bring a whole pound of cakes to eat by myself 
 while you drivelled about the Middle Ages and Richard 
 Coeur de Lion. You saw him, I know, for you've got 
 the portfolio there in your hand. He didn't think it 
 was funny at all that you should be left without money. 
 He was mad because I laughed. He gave me a fright- 
 ful scolding for having entrusted the stupid old pack- 
 
290 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 age to his honest care. Is he downstairs? I'll go down 
 and make him apologise to me at once for his words. 
 Where did you leave him? " 
 
 A great light broke over Margot's mental vision. 
 
 "Oh, Cousin Angela! Did you send him away? 
 Why did you dp it? Poor Richard! He wanted to 
 stay. He promised to stop if you would let him." She 
 stopped short, alarmed at her cousin's pallor. " What 
 is the matter, dear? You look ill. What has hap- 
 pened? " 
 
 Angela sank down on the bed. 
 
 " I think the sun has made my head ache. I will 
 lie down a while." 
 
 Margot, forgetful of all else in her sympathy, imme- 
 diately kneeled down and pulled off her cousin's shoes ; 
 she then helped her to undress, brought a loose gown, 
 shook up the pillows and darkened the room in an in- 
 credibly short time. 
 
 " I am so sorry ! Poor darling ! Now keep perfectly 
 still and I am sure you will sleep it off. We will take 
 ourselves off, Robinson and I, and you must rest until 
 we come back for tea." 
 
 Margot wondered what had happened ; her suspicions 
 were aroused, but she was wise enough to ask nothing. 
 She gathered up the letters she had been writing, 
 clapped on her Panama hat and went quickly out, fol- 
 lowed by her little brown companion. 
 
 The genial waiter, still at his task of trickling a few 
 drops of moisture over the foliage, gazed admiringly 
 as the young girl passed out into the street; he re- 
 marked to Clotilde, who stood looking over the balcony : 
 
Carcasonne 291 
 
 " Bien joliel Bien chic, celui la! " and went on 
 nodding his brown head for a few minutes, like a 
 Dresden china mandarin. He admired the young 
 " American mees " with all the fervour of his meridional 
 nature. 
 
 Left alone, Angela's head throbbed and burned worse 
 than ever. Sleep was impossible. She tossed from side 
 to side on the pillow; all her hopeful, sanguine nature 
 was overcast and engulfed by a deep sense of despond- 
 ency which prevented her from thinking sanely. Her 
 thoughts went whirling round in her head, regret and 
 satisfaction chasing one another in a perfectly incon- 
 sequential manner. She knew she had not said the right 
 thing to Richard Hardy. To Margot she had not 
 spoken as decidedly as she should. The expression of 
 the man's eyes haunted her. When he asked to be per- 
 mitted to stay, was it possible that her presence had 
 vanished from his consciousness and that he was look- 
 ing through her at Margot, his lovely young sweet- 
 heart? He had plunged his gaze into hers in a most 
 peculiar manner. She felt a warm wave of emotion 
 surging over her and sat upright, only to throw herself 
 down again in confusion and misery. Self-accusing 
 truth filled her with shame. She had sent him away 
 because she could not bear to see lovers' happiness. 
 " You are jealous ! " cried the loud voice of conscience. 
 
 Poor, gentle Angela ! The tumult of thought would 
 not be stilled until it wore itself out, and then, her tem- 
 perament asserting itself, she began to find consolation 
 in that sanguine imagination which had stood her in such 
 good stead through so many other trials. Tears came 
 
292 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 to her eyes; they soothed her spirit and brought sleep 
 to her tired brain. 
 
 Meanwhile, to the only other hotel that Carcasonne 
 boasted the interested Margot bent her way, wondering 
 what could have happened, and where Richard Hardy 
 had disappeared. She was told by the manager that 
 no English-speaking gentleman had been seen there. 
 She then made her way to the railway station, where 
 the gallant chef de gare cheerfully and readily gave 
 her much information he would have withheld from a 
 less attractive maiden. 
 
 " Oui, oui — a tall handsome Englishman ! " The chef 
 remembered him well. He arrived with the train from 
 Marseilles, left his baggage en consigne and then re- 
 turned in less than three hours to take a ticket back 
 to the place from which he had come. The gentleman 
 had waited at the station, marching up and down the 
 platform all the time. " Le tram vient de partir." He 
 has just gone. " A very long journey to take twice in 
 one day ! " exclaimed the interested official. He, too, 
 had suspicions. 
 
 Discouraged, and her curiosity but half satisfied, 
 Margot walked slowly back to the boulevard, now gay 
 with the promenading Sunday afternoon crowd. She 
 sought out a bench, and with Robinson beside her made 
 a picture under the trees that merited more than the 
 usual admiring glances the men of the Midi shoot from 
 under their dark eyelashes at such fair women. 
 
 Margot noticed none of them; her thoughts were 
 galloping back and forth and busy with the question 
 of what could have happened between Richard and 
 
Carcasonne 293 
 
 Cousin Angela. He had run away so suddenly, and 
 she, clearly, was so much disturbed. Margot could 
 come to no conclusion, so she rose, saying to her little 
 doggie: "Never mind, Robinson; together we will 
 make it all right." 
 
 At five o'clock, when she peeped cautiously into the 
 bedroom door, her cousin's eyes were slowly opening. 
 The storm had passed, the usual sunny light again 
 shone in their depths. Margot darted out, gave an 
 order to Clotilde, who was in waiting, and then flashed 
 back again. 
 
 " Don't you move ! You look so much better. You 
 have quite a colour. I will drag the table up to the 
 bedside, and Clotilde shall bring us some of that won- 
 derful tea she wouldn't let us have yesterday. We will 
 try it. Perhaps it won't be bad. She consents, for, 
 being an invalid, she thinks you have a right to it to- 
 day. Look at these cakes ! Robinson and I bought 
 them. Don't they look good, and awfully rich? You 
 needn't shake your head; they won't hurt you a bit. 
 It was the hot sun made your head ache. It was so 
 vivid at noon, and your hat was too heavy. It is awfully 
 becoming to you, and the most stylish creation I have 
 seen this year, as Madame Virginie always says, but it 
 weighs a ton. When we go out again I will lend you 
 one I have in my trunk. You will look like an angel 
 in it. After tea I am going to take you for a drive. 
 I have ordered the carriage ; the air to-day is heavenly. 
 A lady who sat down beside me just now on the boule- 
 vard told me that in Paris it is beastly cold and that 
 everyone is hovering over the fire. Poor mamma, she 
 
294 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 hates the dampness ! I don't believe she is having half 
 as good a time as we are ! " 
 
 Margot gave her cousin no chance to talk, but rat- 
 tled on without mentioning their vanished visitor, while 
 they drank their tea, and good tea it proved to be. 
 
 Refreshed, Angela rose, and they drove out over the 
 smooth roads among the perfumed hedges, past rolling 
 fields splashed with the red of countless scarlet pop- 
 pies. They went as far as Pennautier, where a cha- 
 teau famed in troubadour annals interested and diverted 
 Angela's mind. The driver took them the tour around 
 the boulevard, the pride of La Ville Basse de Car- 
 casonne. He insisted on their admiring the prefecture 
 and the fine houses hidden in deep gardens, and to his 
 infinite satisfaction they pretended not to have seen 
 them before. He directed their particular attention to 
 some of the ancient bastions of the wall, now enjoying 
 a peaceful old age as blooming gardens. " They de- 
 serve garlands after all their victories. C'est que 
 nous avons dans la ViUe Basse aussi des antiquities." 
 
 The cafes were merry with gay family parties. The 
 citizens were still awaiting the news of the election re- 
 turns. The cocher confided to them that he was a rad- 
 ical, a republican. He said he had no party prejudices. 
 If the candidate had suited him he would have voted 
 with the socialists. " Quesque ca me fait a moil " 
 
 He was as anti-clerical as Clotilde was pious, and 
 dismissed the idea of the church party with a vigorous 
 shake of the head and a wide flourish of his whip. 
 
 " Ce sont des can-cans de femme, si Mesdames me 
 pardomnes." 
 
Carcasonne 295 
 
 Like the driver of the omnibus, he carried an auto- 
 mobile horn and punctuated his remarks by a loud fan- 
 fare. He blew a mighty blast after this last remark 
 and wheeled into the hotel courtyard. 
 
 Angela Victoria's spirits were completely revived by 
 the amusement she had enjoyed, and the driver went off 
 chuckling at the generous pour-boire Margot pressed 
 into his hand. 
 
 Clotilde's face wore a very gloomy expression when 
 she came up later with the hot water. She prophesied 
 a dreadful fate for France, and with slow, despairing 
 gestures announced that the election was " ci qu'il a 
 de plus mauvaise," which did not prevent her from 
 coming into their room later to watch la marche aux 
 flambeaux and listen with enthusiasm to the strident 
 music with which the winning party celebrated their vic- 
 tory while marching around the town with torches and 
 banners. 
 
 Quiet at last settled over the little town. The pro- 
 cession was over; the lights were out. Margot slept, 
 and Angela Victoria tried to calm her nerves by recon- 
 structing castles and filling them with kings, knights, 
 troubadours and fair ladies. But the images of her 
 fancy all rolled themselves into one form. A tall, sub- 
 stantial figure stood obstinately before her and looked 
 down through the night into her wide open eyes with 
 an expression she could not fathom. 
 
 " I have spent three of the happiest days of my 
 life — but I will go if you wish it ! " the ghostly visitor 
 repeated again and again. 
 
 Could anything be wrong? Could she be mistaken? 
 
296 A Spring Fortnight m France 
 
 Was it possible Richard did not love Margot? Hope- 
 ful thoughts rushed through Angela's brain, to perish 
 in the darkness. Life seems very hard in the blackness 
 of the night. Every chance gleam of gladness the 
 future may hold goes out with the light. To-morrow 
 they would go toiArles. She sighed. Then on to Taras- 
 con. She would like to skip that; but Margot had 
 insisted on seeing the city of her beloved Tartarin, and 
 she, too, had been so enthusiastic, braving Georgina's 
 wrath, that she dared not pass it now. Perhaps they 
 might hurry on from there and speed along the littoral 
 without stopping the night at Marseilles. She felt 
 absurdly indifferent and tired. Margot had been so 
 uncommunicative about her plans and about Richard 
 that she wondered with a shudder if he could be wait- 
 ing for them in San Remo. She thought of Georgina 
 with an unusual access of affectionate longing. How 
 good it would be to get under her sister's protecting 
 wing again! 
 
 The pleasure in the sunny plains of Provence, the 
 sky, the brilliant sea, the charm of the warm, captivat- 
 ing cities which Angela Victoria had so enthusiastically 
 anticipated, changed to dread. 
 
 " Spring into summer ! " she muttered to herself. 
 " Spring has turned into winter, and a winter that 
 will never end." 
 
 Forty times that night she wished she had never 
 come, and as many times she confessed unwillingly to 
 herself that never had she been happier than on this 
 journey. As the day began to dawn and the birds in 
 
Carcasome 297 
 
 the courtyard to twitter, a wave of hopefulness, per- 
 fectly senseless, foolish hopefulness, but a hopefulness 
 essentially characteristic of Angela Victoria, crept into 
 her heart. Her nature responded to the light. She 
 felt happy, and she slept. 
 
^j? ^? tf? 
 
 Chapter X 
 
 AELES 
 
 "COUSIN ANGELA, it is nearly ten o'clock! I 
 could not bear to wake you before. Robinson and I 
 have made all the necessary arrangements for leaving. 
 I have done all the packing. Nothing will be left be- 
 hind this time. All you have to do is to eat this honey, 
 smell these roses, drink your coffee, and then get up 
 and draw some money with your recovered checks." 
 
 " May I not dress first and have a little bread and 
 butter with my honey? " 
 
 " I will graciously permit all these wishes to be 
 granted. You look blooming this morning, dearest, 
 and we have plenty of time. We do not leave for an 
 hour or more." 
 
 As the easy-going train rolled slowly on, bearing the 
 cousins toward the south, the grim mountains, grey and 
 bare, soon shut away the deserted fortress of La Cite 
 from their lingering gaze. Fertile fields and a country 
 sparsely sprinkled with olive trees spread away at the 
 base of the sterile rocky elevations, but soon the train 
 passed this stern strip of country, and leaving the 
 Black Mountains behind, flew straight on into the heart 
 of summer. The vine stalks near Carcasonne, which 
 showed but a shimmer of green on the bare wood, grew 
 like Jack's beanstalk into tall and full-leaved vine- 
 
Aries 299 
 
 yards after they had left Narbonne basking in the warm 
 sunshine as they passed it. 
 
 At Cette, with its curving beach and white glisten- 
 ing houses, the travellers saw for the first time the bird- 
 like boats, with their pointed sails fluttering out of the 
 bay into the shimmering, deep, violet-blue water of the 
 poetic Mediterranean. 
 
 Full-blown roses hung heavy as they climbed above 
 the open-arched granges, and stolid oxen stood placid 
 before great waggons piled high with hay. Peasant 
 women with gaudy headgear and men with dull red 
 handkerchiefs about their waists worked industriously 
 in the great flat vineyards, labouring unceasingly to 
 destroy the countless enemies lying in wait to injure 
 the wine crop, as they must. 
 
 The little cabins, built of cornstalks, like the fairy- 
 tale houses, and the cottages of the " garde barriere," 
 half open, save for a thatching of the same straw, 
 afforded admirable trellises for white-flowered vines. 
 Wild roses bloomed beside the line of the railway, and 
 the small groves of fragile olive trees added a dusky 
 splash of shadow to the juicy green of the vineyards 
 and the great flaunting red masses of the poppies. 
 
 As they neared Montpellier, palms and exotic flow- 
 ers waved in the gardens of the private villas along the 
 white road. The poplar had vanished from the land- 
 scape to give its place to the dark ilex standing stiff, 
 strong and sombre in the radiant, smiling scene. A mos- 
 quito, as debonnaire and light-hearted as those careless 
 foes of humanity are wont to be, ventured singing into 
 the carriage to be snapped at by Robinson, and done 
 
300 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 to death between Margot's quicker palms. The trains 
 of horses meandering into Montpellier wore more bells 
 and swinging red tassels on their harness than at Car- 
 casonne, while agile little donkeys were dressed with 
 collars and horns which were marvels of gay leather 
 work. 
 
 The cousins bought little baskets of strawberries 
 nestling in dewy leaves, as a substitute for cakes and 
 " tea," and bestowed the small bottle of red wine they 
 had found in their luncheon box on the grateful fruit 
 peddler at the station. 
 
 " Je vow remerciez bien, Mesdames. Are you sure 
 you do not want it for goutet? It is not bad," she 
 declared, damning with faint praise. Angela bought 
 two more baskets for the fabulous price of fifteen 
 centimes each, while Margot and Robinson were stretch- 
 ing their legs up and down the platform. 
 
 After Montpellier, vineyards, flowers, and palms, and 
 the white light of Provence resolved themselves all 
 at once into dull stretches of marshlands and watery 
 flats. A line runs from the junction at Lunel, down 
 through this green morass, to Aigues-Mortes, a sad- 
 der, more ghostlike, and as strong a fortress as that 
 of Carcasonne, without the charm of location or the 
 same glorious and far-reaching memories into the 
 past. 
 
 Aigues-Mortes, dead almost before it lived, was built 
 for the Crusaders by St. Louis, who, having no port 
 from which to embark for the Holy Land, purchased 
 from the monks a tower standing here among the 
 fishermen's huts. It was never any nearer the sea than 
 
c/3 
 
 w 
 ►J 
 
Aries 301 
 
 a canal could bring it, but the king sailed his ships 
 up to the quay still in existence. Philippe the Bold 
 made a great fortress of the place, and in the un- 
 healthy air scores of Crusaders on their way to Jeru- 
 salem lingered and died. The sad little town, built 
 inside the great mediaeval fortifications, the most per- 
 fect now in existence, was kept well away from the 
 walls by the royal builders. To its small, symmetrical 
 streets have been added no new structures. Like an aged 
 person, it has shrunken into a sad, wrinkled little city, 
 melancholy and withered. As Figuier says in " Le Gar- 
 dien de la Carmague," " Forgotten by the ages and the 
 world, Aigues-Mortes presents the rare and curious 
 picture of a French city which has been left behind by 
 the centuries." 
 
 The tragedy of Aigues-Mortes was its capture from 
 the Burgundians by the troops of King Charles VII. 
 in 14£1. Such a wholesale massacre then took place 
 that the corpses were thrown in heaps in a tower, and 
 covered with masses of salt. La Tour des Bourgun- 
 dians, at the southwest angle of the wall, owes its name 
 to this wholesale burial. The canals, which formerly 
 brought vessels of considerable size to the place where 
 the great iron rings, still visible, were hung in the 
 wall to fasten their chains, are now filled up, otherwise, 
 to quote from Hare, the shore near Aigues-Mortes 
 has changed less than any other part of the delta of 
 the Rhone. 
 
 A soft, pink, warm sunset glow spread over the walls 
 of the great Roman amphitheatre, which, seen from the 
 
302 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 car window, announced to the cousins that they had 
 arrived at the station of Aries. 
 
 Every characteristic of the Midi was more evident 
 here than at Carcasonne; the crowds in the numberless 
 cafes were gayer, the streets were narrower, the foliage 
 duller and dustjer, and the sensation of warmth, in- 
 tensity and summer life more pronounced. 
 
 " They actually have to have switches in these nar- 
 row streets, so the waggons can pass one another," 
 exclaimed Margot, when the omnibus driver drew up 
 to wait, where there was a broadening curve in the 
 contracted thoroughfare. 
 
 The Place du Forum, despite its pompous name and 
 the Roman pillars still visible in the wall of the Hotel 
 du Nord, is as bourgeois and homely as a village 
 common. 
 
 Shaded by broad-spreading trees, surrounded by 
 cafes and small hotels, adorned by the usual kiosk, 
 the starting place of a miniature tramway, it has still 
 managed to preserve a most intimate, genial air. 
 
 " The genius of the South ! " enthusiastically ex- 
 claimed Angela Victoria, who really knew nothing about 
 it, but thought that sounded literary. 
 
 From the windows of their room they could look 
 into green branches where a chorus of birds practised 
 an evening song, each little chorister trying to out- 
 trill the other. 
 
 After a long day in the train and a lunch-basket 
 dejeuner, the healthy appetites of the two cousins cried 
 out for food at an earlier hour than they usually chose 
 for dinner. 
 
Aries 303 
 
 " Garlic or no garlic, I must eat saucisson d' Aries 
 in the land of its birth." 
 
 Margot at the dinner table was balancing a piece of 
 this noted hors d'ceuvre on her fork, when a great Rus- 
 sian wolf hound walked into the dining-room waving his 
 splendid plume-like tail with indescribable dignity. 
 Margot's eyes followed the handsome creature as he 
 made his way to a table occupied by officers at the ex- 
 treme end of the room. 
 
 A gentleman in civilian's dress, who was sitting with 
 his back toward the cousins, turned to pat the dog, 
 who had been ordered out by its master. 
 
 Margot dropped the sausage and stared. She 
 leaned quickly across the table and whispered excitedly 
 to Angela. 
 
 " There is the Vicomte de Solanges ! What can he 
 be doing here ! I hope he won't see me ! " 
 
 But he had seen her. Turning quite around in his 
 chair to laugh at the injured way in which Borzoi Ivan 
 Ivanovitch made his exit, he caught her eye and rose 
 at once to greet her, followed by {he envious glances 
 of his friends. 
 
 She introduced him to her cousin. 
 
 " How fortunate that I have met you here. I came 
 from Paris yesterday on regimental business. I hardly 
 hoped for such pleasure as this. May I call upon the 
 ladies after dinner? " 
 
 " Certainly," answered Angela, " but our salon will 
 be the bench before the door. The trees invite us so 
 cordially to come and rest out under them." 
 
 " Perhaps I can persuade you to drink your coffee 
 
304 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 at the cafe there on the square. It will be amusing, 
 and the coffee is good." 
 
 Angela Victoria, to whom his invitation was ad- 
 dressed, consented, and he returned to his friends, who 
 overwhelmed him with questions which he took small 
 pains to answer. 
 
 " He seems a very nice type of young Frenchman." 
 
 " He is," answered Margot, " earnest, wholesome 
 and ambitious in his profession. He is the very best 
 sort of a chap. I have known him long enough to be 
 sure of that. Mamma is anxious to have me marry him, 
 but I don't think he wants to marry me, even if I felt 
 as she does about it." 
 
 Angela wondered more and more what turn things 
 would take now. 
 
 After dinner they strolled across to the little cafe, 
 Robinson and the Borzoi, side by side, creating a great 
 deal of merriment by the contrast in size, but common 
 dignity of manner. The master of the hound, an 
 elderly colonel and a family connection of the Vicomte 
 de Solanges, accompanied them. 
 
 While drinking their coffee Margot gave an amusing 
 account of her impressions de voyage, and listened de- 
 lightedly to the news of her sister Constance's great 
 success as a society belle. 
 
 It was then proposed to look at the Roman ruins, 
 and see the moon rise above the noble arches of the 
 amphitheatre. 
 
 " Little as now remains of Latin splendour, that lit- 
 tle is worth coming far to see," said the Colonel en- 
 thusiastically. 
 
Aries 305 
 
 There is something so mysterious, so appealing to 
 the imagination, so exciting to the fancy in seeing a 
 place for the first time in the dark that Angela at once 
 consented to the plan. In the tender twilight which 
 preceded the moonrise, the Place de la Republique ap- 
 peared majestic, the buildings splendid; the narrow 
 streets seemed lined with palaces and the auditorium of 
 the Roman theatre filled with silver-robed spirits. They 
 left the cafes of the boulevard, with their merry pa- 
 trons and glaring lights, and entered the little park, 
 above which, on rising ground, are the ruined arches 
 of the former splendid entrance to a theatre built 
 by Augustus. There was a solemnity about the lonely 
 twin columns rearing themselves among the ruins, and 
 the silver half light exaggerated the dignity of the 
 surroundings and shrouded the decayed splendour with 
 mystery. Margot cared little to linger, however, as 
 Roman ruins made but a vague appeal to her just then, 
 so they went on quickly and entered a small dark 
 street, stumbled over cobbles which were a torture to 
 the feet, and suddenly the noble arches of the amphi- 
 theatre were before them. 
 
 " We must get inside into the arena and watch the 
 moon peep in at us first through the upper arches, 
 then look over the top, and flood the whole place with 
 light. It is the most wonderful sight in Aries." The 
 officer sent off a small boy to fetch the keeper from 
 an adjoining house, and a franc unlocked the gates. 
 
 " Do not try to mount. It is not safe in the dark, 
 Mesdames, Messieurs ! " cautioned the gardien. 
 
 They had no wish to climb the dark, uncertain stair- 
 
306 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 ways. The great ring opened before them and the 
 moon was nearly ready to show her beauty. 
 
 The dogs frolicked in the sawdust, playing at bull 
 baiting, and the antics of the long-limbed, lithe hound, 
 opposed to the alert evasion of the little terrier, moved 
 the officer to a , thrilling description of the harmless 
 bull fights which delight Aries every Sunday during 
 the summer months. 
 
 With picturesque gesture and Southern fluency he 
 described the sport of which he was plainly an ardent 
 amateur. A bull " pas trop sauvage " is ushered into 
 the ring with music and drums, and then excited by 
 bold young men, who wave bright handkerchiefs in 
 the animal's face, and jump from the ring over the 
 encircling wooden fence, against which Angela was 
 leaning at that moment, whenever the prancing bull 
 plunges after them. The sport consists in snatching 
 off a rosette fastened between the bull's horns. The 
 winner is given a large prize in money, and the youths 
 of Aries become very adroit at the game. There is 
 rarely an accident, and the bulls enjoy it so much 
 that they have frequently to be driven out of the 
 ring. 
 
 The gay crowds and beautiful women, the dashes of 
 gaudy colour against the grey stones, the wonderful 
 tints of the sky showing through the open arcades, 
 ah, that was something to see! And the cries, the 
 laughter! Angela Victoria's vivid imagination pictured 
 it perfectly. She responded to the enthusiasm of the 
 description, and almost jumped over the fence herself 
 when Borzoi leaped toward her; then the moon sud- 
 
Aries 307 
 
 denly appeared through one of the arches before her and 
 shot a clear ray across the arena down on Margot and 
 the Vicomte de Solanges. The Colonel had turned to 
 see the lighted arcades at his back ; in the fervour of his 
 bull-fight souvenirs and Angela's attentive interest, he 
 had not even noticed that the two younger members of 
 the party had wandered away. 
 
 Angela now stared with wondering eyes. Was Mar- 
 got a flirt? She was so full of gay, light spirits. 
 You never can tell about these girls. She certainly 
 had confessed to being in love, and Angela had sus- 
 pected 
 
 Her fascinated gaze was fastened on the couple. 
 He was speaking earnestly, she was smiling radiantly, 
 and suddenly he bent down and kissed the hand she 
 offered him. It all happened in a second. The Colonel 
 did not even notice that she had not turned as he did. 
 Her heart gave a leap and almost choked her. She 
 could not tell whether she felt gladness or sorrow. 
 Poor Richard! but perhaps 
 
 " Perhaps what? " asked the blurred moon, and at 
 the same moment Margot's voice, with a happy, new 
 note in it, sounded at her elbow. She had slipped her 
 hand through her cousin's arm. 
 
 " Isn't this too enchantingly, entrancingly lovely ! 
 I suppose you are seeing all kinds of Roman ghosts 
 in flowing togas and veiled heads filling these seats, and 
 applauding every time a lion eats up a martyr." 
 
 The Colonel bowed respectfully to Angela. 
 
 " If I have caused Madame to wish to see the Greek- 
 eyed Arlesiennes, with dark silken dress and dainty 
 
308 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 fichu, the soft black hair crowned with a tiny cap of 
 rich lace and broad ribbon; if I have persuaded her 
 how well worth while it would be to stop over until 
 next Sunday to see the first bull fight, I shall be very 
 happy." He looked at the lady with beseeching 
 glances, so Margot declared later. " Ah, Madame, the 
 excitement, the amusement! the cries! the cheering 
 for the handsome bull fighters ! Ah, Mesdames, you will 
 remain until next Sunday!" He joined his hands in 
 an attitude of prayer, and looked very playfully at 
 Margot. 
 
 " By next Sunday we shall be with my mother and 
 sister and Cousin Georgina," she said, smiling at 
 Angela with mischief in her eye. Then she turned a 
 glance on the young Vicomte, which puzzled and an- 
 noyed her cousin so much that at once she said: 
 
 " We must go back to the hotel. The moon has 
 done all she can for us. She has lighted her lantern 
 and made this scene so captivating that it will enchain 
 my memory forever." 
 
 So out under the broad and mysterious solemnity 
 of the arches they passed through patches of moon- 
 light, that was almost golden in its radiance, and then 
 under dark purple shadow again back through the nar- 
 row streets to the electric lights and laughter of the 
 Place du Forum. 
 
 " I shall be gone before you are up to-morrow morn- 
 ing, ladies, so allow me to thank you for your company 
 this evening, and to say ' au revoir,' " remarked M. de 
 Solanges. " If you need a guide to-morrow," he 
 laughed, " M. Colonel will be here. He is a passion- 
 
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Aries 309 
 
 ate lover of Provence, of Mistral, of Daudet, and of 
 
 all the curiosities of Aries " 
 
 " who is happy to offer his services." 
 
 " Ail revoir! Au revoir! " 
 
 Said Margot to the Vicomte : " You may take my 
 love to my mother and sister, and I will send down to 
 the office to-night a letter for you to put in your 
 pocket." 
 
 The adieux had been spoken, and, as the cousins 
 mounted the staircase, the young girl cried with a mock 
 tragic air: 
 
 "Another secret! Another secret! I have three 
 now! How I wish I could tell you one of them! I 
 shall burst if another comes my way! Arrive! Ar- 
 rive! Vims, Robinson! I must whisper them all into 
 your ear, or I shall die before morning." 
 
 She kissed Angela Victoria rapturously, and dashed 
 into her own room, leaving her poor cousin to pass 
 another troubled night. 
 
 A letter from Georgina came up on the breakfast 
 tray: "I had engaged your room, and now I shall 
 expect you on Friday without fail. I am getting very 
 tired of waiting for you. I cannot imagine why you 
 have lingered so long by the way and overstayed the 
 time you set yourself for the length of the journey. I 
 can always calculate better. Caroline [who was Mar- 
 got's mother] has written that she and Constance want 
 to join us here. She writes that she is tired of the 
 cold and wet, and that Constance has been so gay she 
 needs a rest. Her husband is coming over from Amer- 
 ica by the Southern route to meet her here." 
 
310 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Angela had just reached this point in the epistle, 
 when Margot, looking fresh, rosy, and adorably pretty 
 in one of those deliciously simple negligees that the 
 Parisian needle-woman knows how to devise for the 
 young and lovely, came in, her eyes full of happiness, 
 her hands full of letters. 
 
 " We have an invitation from Marseilles, Cousin 
 Angela. No stupid hotel for us there! A villa on 
 the Corniche ! Mamma says I may go. I know you will 
 be glad to accompany me." She bent down to kiss 
 her cousin good-morning, looking, meanwhile, very 
 mischievous. 
 
 " What are you talking about, dear? Who is it you 
 know in Marseilles? " 
 
 " I know Mrs. Hardy. She has taken a villa for a 
 few months, to be there with her husband. He has 
 some sort of shipping interests which force him to 
 remain there. I ought to know all about it — but I 
 don't." 
 
 " Mrs. Hardy ! " Angela felt as if she were shriek- 
 ing. " Have I been travelling round with a married 
 man who has never once mentioned his wife ! " 
 
 The scene in La Cite de Carcasonne rose before her 
 eyes with renewed horror, and nearly blinded her. 
 
 Margot threw her hands up behind her head and 
 went off into peals of laughter. 
 
 " You dearest, properest, foolishest cousin, it isn't 
 Richard Hardy who is married. It is his brother. This 
 Mrs. Hardy is his sister-in-law." 
 
 Angela Victoria flushed scarlet, and a little, awk- 
 ward, confused smile stole over her face. 
 
Aries 311 
 
 " Do forgive me for teasing, but I am so happy this 
 morning that I am silly! just silly!" she leaned 
 her elbows on the table and bent over toward Angela. 
 
 " Now, you are going to hear all my secrets ! I 
 have permission to let you into my garden of joy!" 
 
 She took her letters from the table, and, holding 
 them like playing cards in her hands, laid them down 
 again one by one, as she counted them off: 
 
 " Mamma has written one. Constance has written 
 
 one. Mrs. Hardy has written one. And " she 
 
 clasped the last envelope fervently to her heart, while 
 her eyes shot forth flames of pleasure, " Dick has 
 written to say all is right ! " 
 
 Angela Victoria, inwardly quaking with nervous ex- 
 citement, listened quietly. 
 
 " Here is the first and most important secret ! I 
 am engaged ; number two, Constance is engaged ; num- 
 ber three, mamma is in ecstasy, and last, but greatest 
 of all, Mrs. Hardy is just crazy about me as a daugh- 
 ter-in-law. So Dick says, and he must know. She wants 
 you to come and approve of her son. He knows all 
 about you, you dearest little thing ! " 
 
 And Margot executed a manoeuvre which was partly 
 war dance and partly embrace, and succeeded com- 
 pletely in dragging her cousin out of her chair. 
 
 Her son! So Cceur-de-Lion was only Uncle Dick! 
 
 " Sit down, you wild girl, and tell me all the news ! 
 I know nothing about Constance, or why you flirted so 
 outrageously with Mr. Hardy." 
 
 " Constance is easily disposed of. You saw her 
 future husband last night; he has been in love with 
 
312 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 her for a long time. He only liked me, although 
 mamma imagined he wanted to marry me — that is why 
 Constance and mamma are coming down to meet us. 
 They want to get out of Paris until the engagement 
 is announced. That will be when papa comes." Then 
 she blurted out,; " How can you say I flirted with 
 Uncle Dick! He knew all about my engagement with 
 Dick II. That is why he joined us, and I wanted him 
 to fall in love with you, but you treated him so coldly 
 and acted all the time as if you wanted him to go away." 
 She paused. " I don't believe we shall see him in Mar- 
 seilles. I am awfully sorry." 
 
 Life had many happy days in store for Angela Vic- 
 toria and Margot, but the memory of that day spent 
 in Aries held its place through long years as one of 
 the brightest days on earth. Margot knew why she 
 was happy, but her cousin could find no reasonable 
 excuse for the light-hearted mood that so completely 
 possessed her soul. Perhaps it was the brilliancy of 
 the glowing sun shining into every crevice of a city 
 still stately with the monuments of a past civilisation — 
 for Aries is older than Rome. 
 
 The cousins first bent their steps toward the Alis- 
 camps, a spot the early Christians of Roman Gaul 
 believed to be the holiest earth in which to lay their 
 dead. They went across the boulevard and down a 
 long lane, from whence they turned into the avenue 
 shadowed by quivering aspen leaves, which leads to the 
 Church of St. Honorat. The way is lined by empty 
 stone sarcophagi, where, in rude blocks hollowed out of 
 great pieces of granite, a past race had been interred. 
 
Aries 313 
 
 Margot, in her trim white clothing, and Angela, in 
 the grey gown she had despised so unreasonably in 
 Saumur, walked joyously down among the tombs, 
 happy in the bright, warm air, and in listening to 
 the trilling song of the birds, who found happy homes 
 in the great stone coffins prepared for long-departed 
 Gallo-Romans. 
 
 The keeper of the church was waiting outside the 
 gate for them when they came up. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mesdames. You did well to come 
 early. It will be warm to-day." 
 
 " What an enchanting spot this is ! " 
 
 " N'est pas, Mademoiselle? " He opened the gate un- 
 der the fine archway for them to enter the courtyard 
 of the church. " There are but few of the splendid 
 monuments left; they have been stolen, sold, scattered 
 through all the great museums of the world, and the 
 railroad has ruined the place — all but the Avenue. It 
 was there the finest tombs, the sculptured sarcophagi, 
 were placed in early times. Yes, Mesdames, from all 
 over the world came the bodies of Christians to be 
 interred here, for Christ himself appeared and blessed 
 the old pagan burying ground, and the devil had no 
 power over the bodies placed in this earth. When 
 the railroad was built, the men, in digging, came upon 
 tier after tier of the Gallo-Roman stone coffins you 
 see outside on the Avenue. Here are thousands of 
 them still in the earth, for in the early Christian 
 days it was only necessary to embark a body on the 
 Rhone with money for burial, and it was brought here 
 to rest near the tomb of St. Trophime. There were 
 
314 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 once nineteen churches, served by the monks of 
 St. Victor, where now there are but ruins and tombs. 
 I often think, Madame, of all the tears that have been 
 shed here, and all the despair buried here, and wonder 
 how the birds can sing so joyously all the day through 
 in these trees and the roses climb over every inch of 
 these banks." 
 
 He was a poetic philosopher, but Nature cares little 
 for the anguish which in her wisdom she knows to be 
 futile, and the present visitors could not believe in 
 sorrow that bright morning. It seemed as far away 
 from them as the dead of the ancient Aliscamps. 
 
 The place was almost impossible to leave, it was 
 so beautiful in the vibrant sunshine. Margot sat upon 
 a rudely carved sarcophagus, and diverted the old 
 man's thoughts into more vital channels by asking 
 him about the lovely women of Aries. 
 
 There was a theme which fired his pride of country! 
 The dead and their tombs were forgotten in the elo- 
 quence of a paean of praise sung to the soft, velvety, 
 dark orbs, the perfect features, the ivory skins, and 
 the grace and charm of the Arlesienne, but it ended 
 with an invective against that enemy to beauty, which 
 had likewise been the enemy of Aliscamps. 
 
 " Mais le chemm de fer! It will ruin all that ! The 
 employees, ugly men from the North, are marrying our 
 prettiest girls, and the type will vanish as did the won- 
 ders of these fields," atfd he mournfully made a sweep- 
 ing gesture over the country near the street of tombs, 
 through which an engine was slowly puffing along. 
 
 Considering that the glory of Aliscamps had be- 
 
szmSE^ 
 
Aries 315 
 
 gun to wane in 1152, the railroad, built only in 1848, 
 cannot have been altogether responsible for its utter 
 decay. 
 
 " Do you know Mistral, the great poet of Provence, 
 the author of 'Mireille'?" 
 
 Margot did not, but Angela loved the warm notes 
 of the poet of the ardent South. " Je chant au soleil," 
 she quoted. (I sing in the sunshine.) 
 
 He nodded with approval. " Madame knows and 
 she must go from here to the Musee Arlaten. You will 
 see there one of our Arlesienne beauties, et une bien 
 belle je vous en reponds. There is a collection of curi- 
 osities of the province founded by our great poet, his 
 cradle and pictures of his Mireille." 
 
 It was just the sort of museum for these two, so 
 they left the loquacious old fellow with infinite regret, 
 and through the palpitating shadows thrown across 
 the sunlit path by the rustling leaves, they returned 
 lingeringly along the lane of empty tombs to the 
 boulevard. There they hailed a cab. 
 
 " The sample I got of these Gallo-Roman cobble- 
 stones last night makes my very feet curl up inside 
 my shoes," declared Margot. " There will be no more 
 walking in Aries for me ! " 
 
 They chose their driver because he was smiling, and 
 his horse because it was fresh and well-kept. Their 
 judgment proved good: the driver smiled all day, turn- 
 ing every moment round on his box to show them his 
 beaming countenance, and impart to them all he knew 
 and whatever he could invent concerning the history 
 of his native place. The horse trotted so bravely that 
 
316 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 by noon they had been all over the city. Both, child- 
 ish enough in their tastes and always intensely enter- 
 tained by all the local interests of whatever city they 
 visited, the cousins were delighted with the museum, 
 where the noted beauty, who fully deserved the title, 
 left them to their own devices, after persuading them 
 each to buy a " cigale " pin, emblem of the poet's de- 
 vice " Je chante au soleil." 
 
 Dolls, dressed in the costume of the country, local 
 scenes which these manikins illustrated, were the sort 
 of sights Angela Victoria loved. They gave her a 
 peep into the habits of the people. Margot shared her 
 cousin's pleasure. 
 
 " Why haven't they these museums in every city ? " 
 
 " Because they have no Mistral," said Angela de- 
 cidedly, and after a pause she added, " and because, 
 perhaps, such collections do not interest everybody. 
 Georgina wouldn't like this, I'm sure. It is what she 
 calls clutter." 
 
 The interested driver then whisked them away to a 
 mediocre gallery of local paintings, which only re- 
 ceived a weak tribute from their inartistic souls. The 
 picture of the artist's daughter, Mademoiselle Reattu, 
 was the only thing Margot looked at, and Angela spent 
 her interest on the old house, once belonging to the 
 Knights of Malta. It took them no more than ten min- 
 utes to see what they liked best in the archaeological mu- 
 seum, a rapid process, which sadly disappointed their 
 smiling driver, who had persuaded Robinson to sit 
 on the box beside him when they went in, and expected 
 to wait and play with the little dog at least half an 
 
Aries 317 
 
 hour, but he was appeased by their long absence in 
 the enchanting cloisters of Saint-Trophime, that great 
 church standing out so rough and unfinished on " La 
 Place de la Republique." 
 
 Here another ancient citizen of Aries showed them 
 around these wonderfully beautiful arcades of the 
 twelfth century. He pointed out, with pride and 
 pleasure, each separate figure, every perfect detail to 
 these visitors whose admiration was not stinted, while the 
 play of the sunlight through the arches, the atmos- 
 phere brimming with golden atoms, the incomparable 
 beauty of the romanesque galleries awakened all the 
 enthusiasm their guardian could desire, and his warm 
 thanks at their departure were called forth more by 
 their interest than the liberal fee which they bestowed. 
 
 " On est comme ca en Provence." As they again 
 entered the fiacre, the driver stood up and waved his 
 arm widely over the square. It was a magnificent 
 gesture. 
 
 "Behold! Voila! The obelisk from the Arenes! 
 Egyptian ! There is no other like it in France ! " 
 
 Then away he galloped his nag up the narrowest of 
 narrow streets to the theatre. The rich-coloured African 
 marble columns, touched by the sun, glowed with splen- 
 did tints of colour which had been hidden in the moon- 
 light. The driver pointed out with his whiphandle the 
 exact spot where the Venus of Aries had been found. 
 It is now in the Louvre. He almost told them that he 
 had seen it discovered, and as 1683 was the year in 
 which it was dug up, his statements were both received 
 with a trifle of incredulity by his hearers. In the 
 
318 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 amphitheatre they climbed to the outer uppermost circle 
 of seats by the restored staircase they had been for- 
 bidden the night before, and tried to imagine the place 
 with the two hundred and twelve houses which the guide 
 told them had existed among these ruins in the beginning 
 of the century. Angela and Margot looked down into 
 the Arena and laughed over the events of the night be- 
 fore. It was such a good place for confidence that 
 they sat nearly an hour, while Margot poured out the 
 entire history of her love affair, which, with the sole 
 exception of her mother's feeble objection, was a most 
 unromantic tale. The driver waiting without was 
 content with the attention they had bestowed on the 
 pride of Aries. 
 
 " On viendra bien lorn voir fa! Un merveille tef " 
 and cracked his whip at the gay horse, who, off in 
 a flash, stopped short whenever his master pulled 
 up and gave vent to a " Voilal " thus denoting the 
 church of St. Mary Major on the site of a temple of 
 Vesta, St. Cesaire, the oldest church in Aries, and the 
 chapel of La Madeleine, an interesting bit of roman- 
 esque architecture. They halted before La Maison des 
 Saints. 
 
 " Here the apostles, St. Paul and St. Jacques, came 
 to visit St. Trophime. II y a longtemps de fa! " he 
 said, shrugging his shoulders, but leaning down with 
 elbow on the box seat and nodding his head sagely, first 
 at the little house and then at the cousins. 
 
 " It looks just like all these other old houses ! " said 
 the unsentimental Margot, but Angela Victoria could 
 not agree with her. Off again dashed the gay horse; 
 
Aries 319 
 
 this time to the quay, where they saw the Palace of 
 Constantine, that son of Maxentius and Fausta, who 
 was born in Aries. Nothing now remains but a great, 
 rough fragment of a Roman tower. 
 
 The driver nearly went into spasms of enthusiasm 
 over the old wall, but, when he found that they in- 
 finitely preferred looking at the great stream of the 
 Rhone, and watching the picturesque groups lounging 
 about the quay, much better than the massive bit of 
 wall which once sheltered Visigoth, Ostrogoth, Francs, 
 and even a Roman emperor, he did not frown on them 
 at all, as they feared he would. His ardour cooled and 
 his explosive expressions of " C'est magnifique," etc., 
 instantly collapsed when he found they met with no 
 response, and, turning his sprightly steed onto the 
 broad highway beside the river, he exclaimed: 
 
 " Mot, cms si, j'aime beaucoup mieux le mouvement 
 que ces vieux pierres." (I, too, love gaiety much bet- 
 ter than these old stones.) 
 
 " What a good time we are having ! " exclaimed 
 M argot: " Can you imagine a better guide than this ! " 
 
 He suited Angela perfectly. He never once asked 
 them to get out and examine anything unless they 
 chose. 
 
 Dumas, somewhere in his writings, says that Aries 
 is a tomb, but the tomb of a people and a civilisation, 
 a tomb to be compared to those in which the bar- 
 barians interred their gold, their arms, and their gods. 
 And, amid all these buried treasures, with a redundancy 
 of youth, life, and light hearts, the cousins, merry and 
 happy, drove back to enjoy a good dejeuner, to which 
 
320 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 they brought healthy appetites, after dismissing the 
 cocher, of whom they felt they had made a friend for 
 life. 
 
 " I hope you did not tell M. de Solanges that I 
 was not really ' Madame,' " said Angela, as they sat 
 over their luifcheon ; " he might wonder, otherwise, 
 that I was permitted to undertake the duties of 
 chaperon." 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! I'll leave that to mamma. She 
 will think it is a huge joke on Cousin Georgina's sense 
 of the proprieties. Didn't you notice that he ad- 
 dressed you as ' Madame ' up to the very last mo- 
 ment?" 
 
 " Georgina will not be surprised. I told her I should 
 assume that title." 
 
 " I know the gallant M. le Colonel thinks you are a 
 widow. I saw him looking at you with more than 
 interested eyes." 
 
 " Please, Margot ! I entreat you not to make me un- 
 comfortable." 
 
 Margot giggled. "I won't! Because if he asks 
 us to go anywhere, or to see anything worth seeing, I 
 want to go—' Madame.' " She added the title with 
 emphasis. 
 
 After dejewner they went out to sit on a green bench 
 before the hotel door, beside the columns of the old 
 forum built into the wall, and were watching Robinson 
 gulp down his dinner, while they laughed at his greedi- 
 ness, when the Colonel appeared before them. 
 
 " And has Madame seen Aries thoroughly? " he asked 
 with interest. 
 
C/3 
 
 OS 
 
 <; 
 
Aries 321 
 
 The cousins both answered eagerly that they had 
 enjoyed a perfect morning. 
 
 " So you have been driving all over this lively sun- 
 bathed city with one of those perfect cicerones, a 
 good fiacre coachman. This afternoon, if you will 
 permit, I should like to show you a great contrast — 
 a strange, melancholy city which is dead. Will you 
 allow me' to conduct you along an admirable road in 
 my small motor car? It is not grand, but it is good, 
 and in an hour we can be at Les Baux, one of the 
 weirdest sights in this part of the country." 
 
 " Oh, do let us go, Cousin Angela ! You love old 
 ruins, and we could not pass the afternoon more de- 
 lightfully." 
 
 Persuasion was not needed; Angela Victoria was 
 ready to consent almost before her cousin spoke, and 
 it was not long before they were running out of the 
 city in a small, but perfectly comfortable, machine. 
 
 " This is the road to Tarascon," the Colonel told 
 them. 
 
 " Where we expect to go to-morrow." 
 
 "To meet Tartarin? " asked the Colonel. "He 
 is always there, if you can only manage to meet him. 
 He is in Aries, too. He is everywhere in our country, 
 because you know, ' En France, tout le monde est un 
 pen de Tarascon." 
 
 " Darling old thing ! He is my hero ! " said Mar- 
 got, with so much fervour that the Colonel, who was 
 old enough to be her father, gaily docked his cap, pre- 
 tending he took the epithet for himself. 
 
 They soon left the main highway and by a detour 
 
322 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 into a rougher country, but on an equally good road, 
 came upon the ruins of a noted abbey. 
 
 "This is Mont Ma jour," said the Colonel. "We 
 cannot pass it." 
 
 " When Cousin Angela motors, she never stops un- 
 less she falls off the side of the world ! " laughed Mar- 
 got. The Colonel looked puzzled, while Angela Victoria 
 shook her finger at Margot and jumped out before the 
 officer got a chance to help her. 
 
 Mont Ma jour has justly been named one of the 
 most enchanting, romantic spots in France; the old 
 abbey has a deep, dark serried wood on one side, and 
 a sheer precipice that falls down to the plain on the 
 other. The palatial monastery buildings are now in 
 ruins, but the magnificent church, with its splendid 
 cloister, the remains of a great tower and a noble gate- 
 way, still show high above the tops of the trees from 
 the gorge below. Two very fine Gothic tombs remain. 
 
 The place where Mont Majour stands was once an 
 island, and in those days connected with Aries by a 
 causeway. Here St. Trophime lived as a hermit, and a 
 stairway still exists which winds down the rock, amid 
 masses of laburnum, to the curious little cell where he 
 used to shrive his penitents. Three of these small cells 
 are built side by side ; in the outer one the sinners waited, 
 praying, before their confessions, on a stone bench ; 
 in the second, where a tiny window communicated with 
 the cell beyond, they made their confessions ; in the 
 third, the holy man lived. 
 
 An interesting chapel, built in the sixth century, 
 where the saint performed his offices, still exists. 
 
Aries 323 
 
 " AD we have seen here belongs to the dead past, 
 but it is dignified and somewhat preserved in spite of 
 its decay, but Les Baux, to which I am taking you, is 
 much more remarkable. It is a city of princes, over 
 which a sorcerer has waved his wand, crying, ' Crumble 
 and fall and cease to be.' " 
 
 They went on by the road that turns off at Fonteville, 
 and here a ghostly barren collection of broken struc- 
 tures, ready to slide off the side of a hill, silhouetted 
 against a deep blue sky, met their gaze. It was all 
 that remains of the great principality and citadel of 
 Les Baux, as strange as the unearthly hill cities of 
 Africa, as desolate as Pompeii. 
 
 For an hour the party wandered through the silent 
 streets of the crumbling burgh in the wake of a guide. 
 This ruined city was, in the days of its glory, the 
 apotheosis of all the rock dwellings in France. Cha- 
 teaux, mansions, churches, and a great hospital were 
 here carved out of the living stone in a tufa so soft 
 that in many cases it crumbled at the foundations, and 
 the towers, belfries, walls, and chimneys sunk slowly 
 down, so that now, years after their fall, they still lean 
 against the stronger dwellings as dead forest trees 
 lean against the live oaks. In some cases the mason's 
 art aided nature in the building, and mansions were 
 begun by carving the rock and then finished by great 
 blocks of stone brought from the near-by quarries. 
 
 Les Baux remembers a glorious past, but now its 
 only inhabitants are a few poor peasant vine growers. 
 Its history begins as far back as in the time of the 
 Gauls. When Provenfe was overrun by the invading 
 
324 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Saracens this citadel became a refuge for the country 
 folk who flocked in from the neighbourhood for protec- 
 tion. Its importance increased in the tenth century, 
 and by the beginning of the twelfth the seigneurs of 
 Baux with proud confidence traced their ancestry back 
 to one of the three Magi and bowed before no monarch 
 on the earth. They owned seventy-nine burghs and 
 great castles and immense stretches of territory in 
 Provence and elsewhere among the southern countries. 
 " The lords of Les Baux in their heyday were patterns 
 of great feudal nobles. They warred incessantly with 
 the counts of Provence, with the archbishops and the 
 burghers of Aries. Crusading, pillaging, betraying, 
 spending their substance on the sword and buying it 
 back again by deeds of valour or imperial acts of favour, 
 they tuned troubadour harps, presided at Courts of 
 Love, and filled a long page in the history of Southern 
 France with their deeds. The Les Baux were very 
 superstitious. In the fulness of their prosperity they 
 restricted the number of their dependent towns to 
 seventy-nine, because these numbers in combination were 
 supposed to be a good omen to their house. 
 
 Berral Les Baux, Seigneur of Marseilles, was one 
 day starting on a journey with his whole force to Avig- 
 non. He met an old woman herb-gathering at dawn 
 and said : " Mother, hast thou seen a crow or other 
 bird? " " Yea," answered the crone, pointing. " There 
 is one on the trunk of that dead willow." Berral 
 counted upon his fingers the day of the year, and turn- 
 ing his whole troop, rode back whence he had come. 
 
 With troubadours of name and note these lords had 
 
Aries 325 
 
 many dealings, but not always to their own advantage, 
 as the following story testifies: When the Baux and 
 Berengers were struggling for the countship of Pro- 
 vence, Raymond Berenger, by his wife's counsel, went, 
 attended by troubadours, to meet the Emperor Fred- 
 erick at Milan. There he sued for the investiture and 
 ratification of Provence, while his troubadours sang 
 and charmed the Emperor. Frederick, for the joy he 
 had in hearing them, granted Berenger the sover- 
 eignty. Hearing thereof, the lords of Baux came down 
 in wrath with the clangour of armed men. But music 
 had already gained the day, and where the Phoebus of 
 Provence had shone the JSolus of storm-shaken Les 
 Baux was powerless. Another time, when Blacas, a 
 knight of Provence, died, the great Sordello chanted 
 one of his most fiery hymns, bidding the princes of 
 Christendom flock around and eat the heart of their 
 dead lord. " Let Raboude Des Baux," sang the bard, 
 with a sarcasm that is clearly meant, but at this dis- 
 tance unintelligible, " take also a good piece, for she 
 is fair and good and truly virtuous ; let her keep it well 
 who knows so well to husband her own weal." But poets 
 were not always adverse to the house of Baux. Fou- 
 quet, the beautiful and gentle melodist, whom Dante 
 placed in Paradise, served Adelaisie, wife of Berald, 
 with a long constancy of unhappy love, and wrote upon 
 her death an entrancing poem, known as " The Com- 
 plaint of Berald Des Baux for Adelaisie." Guillaume 
 de Cabestan loved Berangere Des Baux, and was so 
 loved by her that she gave him a philter to drink, where- 
 upon he sickened and went mad. Many more noted 
 
326 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 troubadours are cited as having frequented the Castle 
 of Les Baux, and among the members of the princely 
 house itself are several poets. 
 
 " Some of them were renowned for their beauty. We 
 hear of a Cecile called Passe Rose, because of her 
 exceeding loveBness. Also of an unhappy Francois, 
 who, after passing eighteen years in prison, yet won 
 the grace and love of Joan of Naples by his charms. 
 But the real temper of this fierce tribe was not shown 
 among troubadours, but in the courts of love and 
 beauty. The stern and barren rock from which they 
 sprang and the comet of their scutcheon are the true 
 symbols of their nature. History records no end of their 
 ravages and slaughters. It is a tedious catalogue of 
 blood — how one prince put to fire and sword the whole 
 town of Courtbezon ; how another was stabbed in prison 
 by his wife; how a third besieged the castle of his 
 niece, and sought to undermine her chamber, knowing 
 her the while to be in childbirth; how a fourth was 
 flayed alive outside the walls of Avignon. There is 
 nothing terrible, splendid and savage belonging to 
 feudal history of which an example may not be found 
 in the annals of Les Baux, as narrated by their chron- 
 icler, Jules Canouge." — J. A. Symonds. 
 
 The desolation, the ruin of this once splendid town, 
 is a fitting grave to the makers of such history. 
 
 The road is cut through houses, splendidly carved 
 chimney pieces, which recall the opulence of the former 
 inhabitants, overhanging the path to the castle. Many 
 of the dwellings are embellished with splendid Renais- 
 sance sculpture, but are now walled up like tombs, while 
 
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Aries 327 
 
 others stand open to the sky, and among the walls the 
 lizards flash in and out in the brilliant sunshine. There 
 is a church, once dedicated to St. Andrew, which has 
 crumbled to its very foundation. Vaulted halls, wherein 
 splendid festivities once were held, gape on one side to 
 the air and allow the passer to marvel at their decayed 
 splendour. A few olive growers now inhabit this ghostly 
 place, once the home of the richest, greatest nobles in 
 Provence. A splendid panorama spreads out to the 
 view from the terrace in front of the church, and from 
 the only thing which now remains of the chateau, a 
 little vaulted chapel, the whole weird and fantastic mass 
 of the roofless city lies at the feet of the sightseer. The 
 cousins, standing there, looked far beyond this pile of 
 desolation to the Mediterranean, thirty miles distant, 
 over the strange country of La Crau, with its gleam- 
 ing rivers and shining lakes. 
 
 The Colonel pointed out to them the glistening line, 
 like a streak of silver quivering on the horizon. " That 
 is the sea," he said. 
 
 " Where we shall be to-morrow," replied Margot, 
 joyously, with a ring of expectancy in her voice. 
 
 Down again through the fantastic, jagged ruins, 
 and then over a stretch of down, they passed on their 
 way to the motor car. 
 
 Said M. le Colonel : " There is not always truth in 
 the old saying that it is good to build on a rock. Look 
 at these dwellings ; they are built on ce qu'il y a de plus 
 de rocker, and yet they have crumbled away like sand." 
 
 " That may be true, but the rock foundation is still 
 here, and dreary enough it is ! " The varying colours 
 
328 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 of an afternoon sky in Provence changed the landscape 
 through which they were speeding back to Aries to the 
 semblance of a picture done in mother-of-pearl. 
 
 That evening, as the cousins were parting for the 
 night, Margot said : " Oh, I hope Uncle Dick will be 
 in Marseilles when we get there; don't you? " 
 
 " No, indeed ; I do not want to see him ! " 
 
 " Not want to see him ? Oh, Cousin Angela ; I'm so 
 horribly disappointed! I hoped you would marry him! 
 He must have fallen in love with you ! " 
 
 " Don't talk such nonsense." 
 
 " But I'm sure of it, Cousin Angela ! No man ever 
 looks at a woman as he looked at you, when your eyes 
 were turned away, of course, unless he's in love with 
 her. I caught him at it heaps of times. Oh, please, 
 Cousin Angela, please love him for my sake ! " 
 
 " Go to bed, you silly girl, and dream of your own 
 affairs of the heart. Mine are of no importance." 
 
 Georgina and Angela differed as much in their char- 
 acteristics as it was possible, considering that the two 
 sisters had many sympathies in common and were in 
 many points extremely congenial. At home Georgina 
 went about everything in the calmest and most method- 
 ical manner; while Angela, lively, sensitive, and almost 
 always happy, was extremely erratic and uncertain in 
 her habits. When travelling, Georgina asked questions 
 unceasingly, but with such an air of interest and such 
 grace of manner that everyone cheerfully gave her all 
 the information at their command. Angela was more 
 timid and somewhat shy, and, being vague and dreamy, 
 got into countless difficulties simply because she was 
 
Aries 329 
 
 so easily diverted from her course by every new emo- 
 tion that came upon her and every unexpected in- 
 cident that crossed her path. In the matter of ad- 
 mirers, neither of the sisters had failed to attract a 
 goodly number of the male sex; but while Georgina 
 had only dismissed her suitors after critically and 
 sternly looking over their qualifications, Angela never 
 realised that any man was in love with her until she 
 was surprised into a refusal. 
 
?|j|? <?J? <$? 
 
 Chapter XI 
 
 TARASCON 
 
 jYL ARGOT was awake the next morning before she 
 heard the birds ; but not before the denizens of the little 
 southern city were stirring. 
 
 If Aries merits the reproach of " une tombe " hurled 
 at it by Dumas, and which M. le Colonel had repeated 
 with vehemence the day previous, it is a very lively tomb 
 from sunrise to sunrise, thought Margot, as she leaned 
 out to look at the passers. " Nobody ever sleeps in 
 France when they should ! " Although it was only at 
 rare intervals that the young lady herself had been 
 sleepless enough to confirm this opinion, many tourists 
 will agree with her. 
 
 It was far too early for Margot to hope that her 
 cousin would be awake, or to expect a cup of coffee; 
 but hearing the cheery voice of the porter, who was 
 sweeping the apology of a sidewalk adorning the 
 front of the hotel, and who was beguiling the dulness 
 of his task by joking with the passing market women, 
 she dressed slowly, packed her luggage and went down. 
 She was greeted with a rare welcome by the sweeper, 
 who went off at once and brought her coffee. 
 
 She took her slender meal in the bright morning air, 
 where above her head in the nests among the fresh green 
 leaves of the thick shining foliage of the great trees 
 
 330 
 
Tarascon 331 
 
 the belated birds were preparing for their day's, work. 
 The papa-birds, who had been out hunting that impru- 
 dent early worm, came home and vied with one another 
 in song. The big Borzoi appeared with the Colonel's 
 servant, and Robinson, who, notwithstanding the pres- 
 ence of a tramway, was as secure from harm as he 
 would have been in the depths of a forest, was left to 
 play with his long-legged comrade while his owner went 
 to wake her cousin. 
 
 They were to take a very early train, so Angela 
 came down to have her coffee likewise before the door. 
 The cordial hostess presented them with a pretty sou- 
 venir of Aries, regretted their departure, their trunks 
 were brought down, the omnibus filled with their nu- 
 merous parcels, and away went the swaying, rakish, rat- 
 tling little vehicle on a mad career through the irreg- 
 ular, narrow streets, the foot passengers fleeing at its 
 approach to the miniature sidewalk, not wide enough to 
 afford a good foothold, and blotted against the houses, 
 laughing and rallying the driver as he pretended to flick 
 them with his whip. 
 
 Angela Victoria counted their packages, to which a 
 few more had been added in Aries, and were numerous 
 enough to cause them to be mistaken for travelling 
 Belgians. 
 
 " What will Georgina say when she sees all these 
 bundles and boxes ! " she said in despair to Margot, 
 when she was tying them up before starting. 
 
 " She won't see them unless we choose to let her. I 
 will buy a basket in Marseilles and dump them all in 
 together. How many are there, seven? " 
 
332 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 "Yes; not quite one for each city we've visited." 
 
 " I don't care. I adore travelling with you, Cousin 
 Angela; you don't care how we go or what we do. 
 Mamma would have been very cross if I had asked her 
 to go to some place where we would have to come over 
 the same line again, as we shall do this afternoon." 
 
 " So would Georgina," thought Angela to herself, 
 but she didn't say it. " We can't very well help coming 
 back, if we turn our faces northward when we ought, as 
 orderly tourists, to keep on going toward the south. 
 I shall be glad for my own sake to pass through Aries 
 again and see the amphitheatre." 
 
 " It will seem just like coming home when we see it. 
 I feel as if we have lived a year in every place we've 
 been to." 
 
 They were such adaptable tourists that they had 
 lived themselves into the life of each town in twenty- 
 four hours, even though they remained deplorably igno- 
 rant of some of the most noted curiosities that the usual 
 sightseer adores. 
 
 The train took them from Aries to Tarascon so 
 rapidly that a lady in the corner who was telling her 
 beads to put herself to sleep hardly got forty winks 
 before the guard threw open the door and called on 
 them to " Descendez." 
 
 Margot sent off a lengthy telegram as soon as they 
 were out of the station. It cost her fully one franc and 
 a half, and, being written in English, excited the opera- 
 tor's inquisitiveness so much that he could hardly be 
 restrained from insisting upon the translation. Such 
 a long and expensive message from wne jeune dame 
 
Tarascon 333 
 
 charmcmte to a gentleman! By some means he found 
 out what a part of it meant before he despatched it. 
 
 " Un rendezvous! " he thought with glee, and clicked 
 it off at once. 
 
 It was still early in the day. A few cats were sun- 
 ning themselves on the boulevard at Tarascon; some 
 babies were playing in the soft sand, but there was no 
 excitement except that caused by naughty Robinson, 
 who insisted upon behaving in a very unruly man- 
 ner, stiffening out his legs and bawling at the cats; 
 refusing to come on when called and finally becoming 
 so totally lost to all sense of obedience that he met with 
 the effective and disgraceful punishment of being fas- 
 tened onto a leash. His intimacy with the Borzoi had 
 completely demoralised him. 
 
 Margot looked about and at once settled upon a 
 house which she declared must have been the home of 
 the great Tartarin. To her Daudet's hero was a real 
 personage. 
 
 " I know this is the place, Cousin Angela ; isn't this 
 the third house on the grande route, and see what 
 funny sorts of plants are in the garden, and what a 
 great grille there is ! " 
 
 Angela was not nearly as familiar with Tartarin of 
 Tarascon and his doings, so minutely described by the 
 witty Daudet, as she was with the deeds and private 
 life of Richard Coeur de Lion, who has not now a 
 historian worth quoting and about whom few know 
 the truth. 
 
 Alas for Margot! the villa she picked out was not 
 on the left, as it should have been, but on the right, 
 
334 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 and the queer growth she flattened her nose up against 
 the railings to see was only the result of neglect. 
 Roses, syringas, dwarf fig trees and vines were all 
 fighting for place in a garden white with the dust of 
 a dusty boulevard. The cousins strolled down into a 
 narrow street, < where under arcades built beneath the 
 houses the market had sprawled itself all over the 
 place. It was swarming with purchasers bargaining, 
 buying, crying, and gesticulating; all noisy, all gay, 
 all intensely meridionale. 
 
 " Every householder in Tarascon is here ! " said 
 Margot. " Isn't it delightful and amusing ! How I 
 love these people! But the cobbles are worse than in 
 Aries. I must, I simply must, walk around the narrow 
 streets where Tartarin used to creep like an Indian on 
 the warpath every evening when he went to the Cercle." 
 So, with the luckless Robinson in tow, like a prisoner, 
 they hobbled painfully over the cruel pavements, turn- 
 ing and twisting corners and stumbling along through 
 the narrow streets, until both, nearly lamed and very 
 tired, turned on to another boulevard which, al- 
 though picturesque, was exceedingly domestic in its 
 character. The family washing of all Tarascon hung 
 in long lines between the trunks of the fine trees, un- 
 blushingly waving in the breeze in front of some preten- 
 tious large houses enclosed in lovely gardens. 
 
 " Perhaps Tartarin lived here ! " said Angela, a trifle 
 maliciously. " This Boulevard Intvme is quite as orig- 
 inal as the delicious hero of Daudet's romance." 
 
 " Tarascon has ways of its own. I am sure this is 
 a thing we can find nowhere else in France." 
 
o 
 o 
 
 GO 
 
 < 
 
 a! 
 
Tarascon 335 
 
 Margot shook her head sadly, and a melancholy 
 horse, slowly dragging an equally sad fiacre, passing at 
 the same moment, she immediately hailed the man and 
 jumped in. 
 
 " I've done my duty, and hobbled in Tartarin's foot- 
 steps until my suffering feet shriek aloud for mercy. 
 We will ride the rest of the way," and both horse and 
 coachman, gathering courage from patronage, started 
 up gaily, and off they went down between the lines of. 
 waving laundry to the Chateau of King Rene. 
 
 This massive, imposing castle is now a prison. It 
 had one very sanguinary episode in its history, a bloody 
 page which the gentle King Rene would have shuddered 
 to foresee. The Revolution being over and Napo- 
 leon, who had reigned in France, banished from the 
 empire he usurped, during the Hundred Days, Ta- 
 rascon went mad with reaction. From the top of these 
 chateau towers men, children, old men and women 
 were cast ruthlessly down to perish on the rocks below ; 
 the slaughter was so great that after this wholesale sea- 
 son of murder the waters of the Rhone were clogged 
 with floating corpses. The Duchess d'Abrantes gives 
 a most horrible and vivid picture of this terrible period 
 in her memoirs. 
 
 The big gateway and dignified aspect of the castle 
 awakened in Margot's breast visions of romance which 
 took quite a different form from those dreamy long- 
 ings in which her cousin so often indulged. 
 
 " Think of housing miserable old felons in such an 
 interesting place! I think they should have instead 
 deposed kings and queens and poor knights and ladies, 
 
336 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 all pensioned by a rich republican government and 
 ordered to walk around with crowns and look royal." 
 
 "My dear Margot!" exclaimed the horrified An- 
 gela. "What put such an extraordinary idea into 
 your head? " 
 
 "Well, you see, my dear Cousin Angela, I can't 
 whistle up ghosts as readily as you can, and I have 
 always wanted to see some really royal personages, with 
 their courtiers, walking around on castellated walls." 
 
 " In other words, you would like to have a sort of 
 human antique museum established in every old castle." 
 
 " Well, not exactly. I can't express my idea very 
 clearly, but I know what I mean. Old Paris, which they 
 had at the time of the Exposition, was what put the 
 idea into my head just now, I enjoyed it so much. I 
 could realise then just how things looked in olden times. 
 Why couldn't decayed tragedians and comedians be 
 given good homes in old castles on condition they would 
 dress in character? It would add so much to sight- 
 seeing; besides, it would make me want to study 
 history." 
 
 Angela laughed heartily ; but in her soul she thought 
 herself it wouldn't be a bad scheme, although she could 
 close her eyes and see knights and damozels at any 
 hour of the day. She only said: 
 
 " They would all want to play the part of royal 
 personages or they wouldn't stay. I am told that is 
 the way with actors." 
 
 The view of the chateau from the long bridge over 
 the road is less beautiful and more severe than from 
 the land side. It rises sheer, a great yellow pile, from 
 
Tarascon 337 
 
 the rocks on the river bank. The suspension bridge 
 was once carried away by that raging wind of the 
 south, the furious mistral. Daudet does not let pass 
 this incident in his incomparable tale. He sends Tar- 
 tarin to Africa before he has ever ventured across the 
 bridge between Tarascon and Beaucaire. 
 
 " The Rhone is so broad at that point, ma foi! vous 
 comprenez! — Tartarin de Tarascon prefers the solid 
 earth." 
 
 " He was just like the old ladies in Carcasonne who 
 never went to La CiteY' said Margot. 
 
 The Chateau of Beaucaire is a splendid ruin, still 
 haughty in sleep, dreaming of its former grandeur. It 
 looks down from a height across the Rhone on its rival, 
 the more lowly castle of Tarascon. At the foot of 
 the sheer rock on which its beetling towers stand are 
 nestled the red-roofed houses of the little town, half- 
 hidden in foliage. 
 
 " Everything is gold and turquoise to-day," said 
 Margot, as they drove over the suspension bridge and 
 looked back at Tarascon. No shade of blue known to 
 artist or jeweller was lacking in the water and the 
 sky. The young green of the trees which cover the 
 islands in the river shone as though each leaf had a 
 rim of burnished gold. The Castle of King Rene and 
 the jagged ruins of Beaucaire, under the influence of 
 the brilliant summer sun, looked like polished ver- 
 meille. 
 
 They left their carriage and wandered round through 
 the old ruins until at last they came out under the 
 shadow of a great tower and looked down on the glo- 
 
338 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 rious landscape spread out at their feet; the mighty 
 river, the old town of Tarascon, looking most pictur- 
 esque and full of colour, and Margot, perching herself 
 where she could look about at castle and town, glanced 
 mischievously into her cousin's face, as Angela leaned 
 dreamily gazing about at the romantic old castle, then 
 drew out of her pocket a book, from which she took 
 a slip of paper and began to read aloud : 
 
 " Gone is mediaeval glory, though we cherish still the story 
 
 Of the deeds of knightly valour, which the modern heart 
 expands. 
 Would that with those gallant drubbings had gone also daily 
 tubbings, 
 That those knights and dainty ladies had seen fit to wash 
 their hands." 
 
 " Oh, Margot ! " said Angela, horrified. She had been 
 meantime off mind-chasing after Aucassin and Nico- 
 lette, the ideal lovers of Beaucaire. " Where did you 
 get that sacrilegious rhyme? " 
 
 " Be careful how you criticise, for I would have you 
 know that this fine poem, which gives me infinite delight 
 and satisfaction, was written right here at Beaucaire 
 by no less a personage than the great Thomas Janvier, 
 a real lover of the Midi." 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " cried Angela, as Margot attempted 
 to read more ; " you are chasing away my choicest 
 dreams of love." 
 
 Margot at once closed her memorandum book os- 
 tentatiously and sprang up. 
 
 " You have shut me up. Just speak to me of love in 
 that tone, and the wit of even Thomas Janvier goes 
 
Tarascon 339 
 
 back into seclusion — for the time being," she added, 
 softly. " Let's talk about those other people. Who 
 were they? The lovers, I mean." 
 
 " You shall have the poem about them. It was 
 written in old Provencal, I believe, but I have a trans- 
 lation by Andrew Lang. I will give it to you to bind 
 in one book with the witty bit you have in your hand, 
 and then you can read them alternately to keep your 
 wits balanced." 
 
 " Cousin Angela Victoria ! I think you are the one 
 who needs to keep her wits balanced! You are letting 
 Robinson chew up your glove ! " 
 
 Sure enough, the little brown doggie, not interested 
 in lovers, and still less in washings, had stretched his 
 neck, and the absentminded Angela had bestowed upon 
 him one of her gloves, which he was enjoying hugely, 
 having no bone. Robinson knew it was time for 
 luncheon. 
 
 "He's so awfully naughty to-day! I don't know 
 what to do with him, he's so bad," said his mistress, 
 looking at him with the fondest affection. " He must 
 be getting tired of travelling." 
 
 They got into the fiacre and went back over the 
 sunny bridge, rejoicing in the warmth. They had not 
 yet seen the church, which the guide book declared was 
 worthy of a visit. 
 
 "We've almost come to the end of our journey," 
 said Angela Victoria, with a sigh, " and we mustn't 
 miss anything that Georgina will ask us about." 
 
 Margot made a grimace, and then, when she saw 
 that on the face of the Church of St. Marthe, above 
 
340 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 the sumptuous portal that some vandals had painted In 
 yellow and red letters a foot or more long, " LibertS 
 Egalite, FraterniU" she positively refused to go in, and 
 told the cocher to " drive on." Even the tomb of a 'king 
 could not tempt her. Amiable Angela Victoria allowed 
 the young lady^ to have her own way, and they drove 
 about in the light and air until it was time for dejeuner 
 at the Hotel des Empereurs. Here in the solid old inn, 
 centuries old, spotlessly clean, where the thick walls 
 occupy more space than the rooms, they ate a good 
 luncheon; Robinson and some gaudy cavalry officers 
 being the only other guests. 
 
 " We still have an hour to wait here before train 
 time," said Margot. " Let's go shopping. You need 
 some gloves." 
 
 " I wouldn't stumble over those petrified mole-hills 
 again," said Angela, looking down at her shoes, " for 
 all the gloves in the world." 
 
 Margot tried to tease her. " But we haven't seen 
 enough to put in your book." 
 
 Angela winced. Her illusions about her ability as 
 an ideal traveller had been swept away effectually. 
 They had died in the glowing air of the South. Her 
 literary aspirations had ended at - Carcasonne. " I 
 don't care anything about the book! And I will 
 not walk on those pavements. If you can find a shop 
 on the boulevard you can go in and buy me some 
 gloves. I will sit in the sunshine under the trees out- 
 side and wait. The boulevard sand is soft to my 
 lacerated feet; they will bear nothing else, and the 
 boulevard is on our way to the train." 
 
Tarascon 341 
 
 " Va pour le boulevard! We have oceans of time, 
 and I see a Grand Bazar in the distance." 
 
 They strolled slowly down the broad dusty walk 
 under the trees, passing numerous cafes, deserted at 
 this hour; at last they reached the shop, which was 
 on a corner very near the house Margot insisted upon 
 believing had been Tartarin's. 
 
 " I wonder what they are going to do with all those 
 stones piled up there? " asked Margot. " I hope they 
 are not going to ruin our garden and build up some 
 horrid new shop." 
 
 Angela looked around. Tarascon had exhibited to 
 her unobservant eyes no violent signs of improvements 
 or activity in the building line. Even the Grand Bazar 
 appeared to have inherited its shelter from some build- 
 ing erected in the last century and modernised only by 
 a great sign and a promiscuous assortment of articles 
 which overflowed onto tables spread before the door. 
 
 With Margot's usual habit of exaggeration, she had 
 converted some bags of mortar, a little mountain of 
 sand and a piled-up heap of stones, with which for the 
 last six months Tarascon had been preparing to re- 
 store the curbing along the boulevard, into a six-story 
 building. 
 
 Margot looked on the array of articles exhibited by 
 the keepers of the Grand Bazar with the eager delight 
 of a young American who is anxious to spend her 
 money. 
 
 " I see lots of things I want, Cousin Angela," she 
 said. " You sit down there on the bench, if you don't 
 Want to come into the shop, and I will buy your gloves." 
 
342 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 Under the trees was the bench indicated, and thereon 
 sat a very old man sunning himself while he smoked. 
 
 Angela took her place beside him, and he at once 
 politely removed his pipe. She begged him to continue 
 smoking, and he smilingly bowed his thanks and imme- 
 diately asked her if she was a stranger in Tarascon. 
 She told him that she was and that she had come be- 
 cause it was the home of Tartarin. He laughed mer- 
 rily and shook his head. 
 
 • " Ce coquin de Daudet! At first we of Tarascon 
 were very much incensed at his nonsense, but he has 
 sent us more tourists than Beaucaire, King Rene and 
 Ste. Marthe all together." Angela was preparing a 
 reply when Margot dived out of the shop in a hurry, 
 driving Robinson. 
 
 " Oh, Cousin Angela ; please hold Robinson ! He's 
 hunting all over the place for rats and upsetting things 
 right and left." She left him and went back toward 
 the shop, and then suddenly turned round, calling over 
 her shoulder : " Keep a watch out for automobiles ! " 
 
 Angela did not understand at all what this last 
 mysterious injunction meant. She supposed the warn- 
 ing concerned Robinson, and as the little doggie sat 
 dejectedly down beside her she put her foot on his 
 strap to hold him there. Robinson turned his melan- 
 choly gaze toward the bazar and watched his mistress 
 disappear into the door of the place where his instinct 
 told him there were numerous rats to be slaughtered. 
 
 The old man looked at the comical little dog with a 
 highly amused expression in his eyes. 
 
 " He is very funny, tres drole! A true little Ta- 
 
Tarascon 343 
 
 rasque ! " Robinson did not appear insulted at all, and 
 yet the Tarasque is the reverse of beauty. 
 
 " You do not know the Tarasque? " the old gentle- 
 man asked. 
 
 Upon her negative reply he told her the story. The 
 Tarasque is a mythical beast who grew out of a legend. 
 Provence does not hesitate to claim as pilgrims to its 
 shores all the near friends of our Saviour who left 
 Jerusalem after His crucifixion. One of these, Ste. 
 Marthe, a sister of Mary Magdalen, chanced to wander 
 up the Rhone as far as Tarascon. Here she found 
 weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. A hor- 
 rible dragon, whose chief diet was young children, 
 roared and belched forth fire and smoke and lived in a 
 most inconvenient proximity to the town. There was 
 in those days no mighty hunter like Tartarin, no troupe 
 of chasseurs de casquette to demolish him. If any of 
 these heroes went out against the monster he ate them 
 up so effectually that they have not survived in history. 
 St. George was far away, but Ste. Marthe, a gentle, 
 weak lady, who must have passed by that time the first 
 flush of youth, came to the relief of the countryside. 
 As soon as she heard the wails and woes she went into 
 the woods in search of the dreadful beast, exorcised and 
 tamed him so completely that she returned to town lead- 
 ing him from his lair by a piece of blue ribbon — at 
 least, so she is represented when the Tarasque is pa- 
 raded once a year in her memory, at Tarascon, guided 
 gently to the place where the procession starts by a 
 young girl leading the horrible monster with a simple 
 leash of that colour. 
 
344 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 In remembrance of the sainte's somewhat disagree- 
 able pet the Tarasconais fabricate each year a less 
 dangerous monster of wicker and painted cloth. 
 
 " In my young days," said the old man, " we 
 fellows used to get inside of the dragon and go sprint- 
 ing all over the town, upsetting everyone who came in 
 
 our way. Why, I nearly ran down " he went off 
 
 into chuckles of delight at his recollections. " Why, 
 I nearly ran down my dear old wife. She was " une 
 jeune file ' then — and — but where is your Tarasque? " 
 he cried. 
 
 Angela looked down in alarm. Robinson had not 
 only disappeared, but she heard the " chug-chug " of 
 a motor approaching through the narrow street, com- 
 ing, as it seemed to her unsophisticated ear, at a high 
 rate of speed around the corner. Margot's injunction 
 flashed into her mind. She started up, calling anx- 
 iously, " Robinson ! Robinson ! " His little brown body 
 met her distracted gaze on the other side of the 
 pile of stones. He was directly in the path of the 
 auto, she imagined, and was straining violently to get 
 himself free from some invisible fetter. The car was 
 coming nearer, and Angela, never cautious, always 
 recklessly impulsive and daring, because she did not 
 stop to think, jumped forward without a moment's 
 hesitation and tried to snatch the little doggie she 
 loved. His leash had become entangled. Anyone else 
 would have remembered and unhooked the fastening. 
 Not so Angela Victoria. She threw herself on her knees 
 and tugged at the leather strap. 
 
 There was a crash. A car twisted suddenly around. 
 
Tarascon 345 
 
 Something happened which no one present was ever 
 truly able to explain. It was all over in an instant 
 after the old man spoke, but it seemed the tragedy of 
 an hour. A man leaped from the car, jammed with its 
 front wheels against the stones ; Angela, paralysed, still 
 clinging to Robinson, felt herself lifted and carried 
 limp and fainting into the Grand Bazar. The driver 
 flung himself out of the auto, the old man stood up 
 and beat on the bench with his stick, shouting for a 
 doctor ; the clerks ran out of the shop, and a tumult of 
 small boys appeared from no one knows where. Mar- 
 got rushed out in the wake of the others, crying: " Oh ! 
 oh ! What is it ? Dick ! Angela ! Robinson ! " 
 
 She was too excited to think, until her cousin, put 
 gently in a chair near the door, staggered to her feet 
 and dropped the dog. Richard Hardy tried to laugh 
 it all off. " I did not expect to come upon you like 
 this ! " But his face was very pale, and Angela's smile 
 was hardly merry. 
 
 Margot flew in and out of the bazar, talking ex- 
 citedly in English and French. To Angela she re- 
 ported : 
 
 " They have smashed something. Uncle Dick doesn't 
 know yet what it is. Perhaps they can fix it up and 
 get back to Marseilles, as they intended." 
 
 Robinson, perfectly subdued and knowing full well 
 that his forbidden pursuit of rats had caused some 
 dreadful disaster, hid discreetly under Angela's chair. 
 This lady, who felt quite as ashamed of herself as the 
 naughty little doggie, made a violent effort to recover 
 her self-possession, and left the shop to join the rest 
 
346 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 of the party. She knew what Georgina would say ; so 
 she knew what Mr. Hardy must think. She did not 
 dare to look at him while she made some silly attempt 
 to excuse her stupidity. Young Richard, looking very 
 much like his uncle, as he stood with his arm linked 
 through MargoVs, assured her that not much damage 
 had been done. 
 
 " Uncle Richard is under the machine now ! It was 
 all his fault! We were going awfully slow and could 
 have stopped all right, all right, if he had only left my 
 hands alone. I don't know what could have struck 
 Uncle Dick. I never knew him to interfere with my 
 steering before ! " 
 
 But something had been injured beyond repair. Mr. 
 Hardy and a man who had arrived without warning 
 from some unseen garage came around from where they 
 had been crouching under the body of the car, exam- 
 ining springs and wheels, and reported that the auto 
 would have to return ignominiously as freight. 
 
 The quartette of would-be motorists therefore had to 
 pursue their journey to Marseilles in an overcrowded 
 compartment of a train instead of gaily rolling along 
 the fine roads in an automobile. 
 
 The accident, slight as it was, afforded Tarascon a 
 theme of conversation for the rest of the week. The 
 old gentleman went home, and with many " Ohs ! " and 
 " Ahs ! " enlarged upon the affair with such picturesque 
 eloquence and with such a wealth of hyperbole that his 
 excited family would not let him go out alone again for 
 days. 
 
 Stories fly with as lightning-like rapidity in Taras- 
 
Tarascon 347 
 
 con as they do in most small towns. Therefore, two 
 young women, who, an hour after the accident, sat in 
 the same carriage with Angela and her party, but were 
 perfectly unconscious that their companions were the 
 heroes of the occasion, were in a fever of anxiety 
 about a terribly battered auto, as one of them described 
 it, that had been wrecked in the streets of Tarascon. 
 
 " They say a man was hurt and a woman nearly 
 killed ! The wheels mounted that immense pile of stones 
 near the hospital. Tu sais! those great stones that 
 have been there since the winter. It was dreadful! 
 The car hung in midair and all the bottom was bent 
 into scallops by the sharp edges of the blocks." She 
 gave her imagination free rein regarding the car; and 
 although her friend knew that the injuries were quite 
 as much exaggerated as the size of the pile of stones, 
 she received the news with a shower of ejaculations: 
 " Awl Oh, la, la! " 
 
 Nobody contradicted the story-teller. Everybody 
 listened respectfully, even Robinson, who tried to make 
 himself very small and to look very meek in atonement 
 for his part in the affair. He snuggled close to Rich- 
 ard, who stroked him gently nearly all the way to calm 
 his little dog feelings. 
 
 Before they had run through the poppy-strewn land 
 and had come to the bare limestone hills which, falling 
 down into dusky olive groves, finally bathe their feet 
 in the azure flood of the Mediterranean, young Richard 
 and Margot had forgotten everything but their own 
 happiness at being together again; and Angela Vic- 
 toria was as serene as if she had never recklessly and 
 
348 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 foolishly thrown herself in the path of death. Richard 
 Hardy was the only one of them all who seemed more 
 grave and serious than the occasion demanded. 
 
 " Do you always travel round with all those pack- 
 ages, Margot? " asked young Dick. "You look like 
 an express messenger." 
 
 " Then that's what you'll look like when we get out," 
 said the happy young girl, " for I expect you to carry 
 every single one of them." 
 
 " Why not give a few to Robinson ? " laughed 
 Dick. 
 
 " No, Robinson has to look after Cousin Angela 
 now. She's proved how much she loves him." 
 
 " Too perilously ! " murmured Uncle Richard. It 
 was his only contribution to the conversation. 
 
 Mrs. Hardy, Dick's mother, was overcome with sur- 
 prise when they arrived, tumbling out of a crowded 
 fiacre instead of rolling up the driveway in a beautiful 
 motor car. 
 
 After all had been explained she said to Angela: 
 " You must stop here in Marseilles with me until 
 the automobile is mended. The run along the Littoral 
 from here to San Remo is so entrancing it would be a 
 shame to lose it." 
 
 But Angela's pleasure in motoring was over for the 
 present. She would like to have stopped there in that 
 beautiful villa among the tropical plants in the luxuri- 
 ant garden, with the wide blue sea at the foot of the 
 terrace ; but she did not dare. There were many things 
 that disturbed her serenity, that combined to make her 
 fear for her own happiness. 
 
Tarascon 349 
 
 " I could not possibly disappoint my sister. She has 
 waited for me so much longer than she intended. We 
 must go to-morrow." 
 
 They had tea on the terrace, and sat long afterward 
 watching the wonderful variations of the jewelled hues 
 on the water, as the sun sank lower and lower. The 
 desolate, protecting, embracing mountain whose grey 
 mass rises above the Corniche road became glorified 
 with the oblique rays of the great, golden sun. The 
 glittering top of Notre Dame de la Garde shone like 
 burnished gold, and the Chateau d'lf floated like a 
 bit of dull amethyst on the rainbow-hued water. 
 
 After tea, when Mrs. Hardy had gone into the house 
 to make some arrangements about the morrow and Mar- 
 got and young Dick had long since taken themselves off 
 in a fiacre to town " to buy a hat Dick thought would be 
 becoming to her," Angela, left alone, strolled down 
 among the thick palms to the edge of the garden wall, 
 there to stand and watch the opalescent water. The 
 sun, growing larger and more vivid, was almost at 
 the edge of the horizon, and the beauty of the scene 
 grew bewildering to her soul, when she heard footsteps 
 slowly crunching the gravel behind her. 
 
 Her heart began to beat violently. She wanted to 
 fly, but she had not even the courage to turn. She 
 would brave it out. She would be curt in her speech. 
 She hardly had time to determine what she really would 
 do when Richard Hardy stood beside her. 
 
 " How very wonderful is a splendid sunset after a 
 dark, dark day ! " 
 
 She looked up at him in surprise; it was not what 
 
350 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 she expected. " But this has not been a dark day ! " 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 " It held one second so dark for me," he said, with 
 great intensity, " that years will not be long enough 
 for me to forget it." Then, talking very rapidly, he 
 went on : " QJi, how could you risk your life so reck- 
 lessly! You could not know what you were doing! 
 You ought to be scolded like a naughty child, and I 
 would like to tell you how I feel, if I had but the 
 courage." 
 
 It was all so unlike what she expected that she looked 
 up into his face coquettishly, with a little malicious 
 smile, and said: 
 
 " Do you lack courage, Lion Heart? " 
 
 " I lack it so much, I am such a coward, that I let 
 you drive me away from you at Carcasonne. My lion 
 heart was not bold enough to ask you to give me back 
 just a little of the love which had grown to be too 
 strong for me to hide." 
 
 Motor cars coming upon her suddenly could never 
 give Angela such a flood of indescribable terror as 
 poured over her soul at that moment, standing in a 
 halo of orange light above the calm sea. She did not 
 know what to say or how to say it; insensate joy fol- 
 lowed the terror, and just as the round, hot, red sun 
 dipped into the water she turned and smiled at him. 
 
 Life was all brightness at that sunset hour! 
 
 Before Angela knew how it had happened, Richard 
 put his hand under her chin, tipped back her head and 
 kissed her squarely on the mouth. Angela Victoria, 
 whose heart was as young and timid as her fresh spirit, 
 
Tarascon 351 
 
 shrank a little from this bold caress ; but her lover put 
 his strong arm more firmly around her, and drawing her 
 to his side, pressed her head close against his heart. 
 
 " As long as I live I will love you and I will take 
 care of you ! You shall wreck no more automobiles ! 
 No more portfolios shall be lost! You shall travel 
 when and how you like — with me, of course! And if 
 you elect to write ten books, I will see that they are all 
 published. And Robinson shall live with us on the 
 fat of the land, for I owe him my happiness." 
 
 " Margot will never give up Robinson ! " 
 
 " But you and I want the little doggie. Suppose 
 we go in this moment and ask her to surrender him to 
 us as a wedding present ! " 
 
 So, with his daring arm still clasping her shoulder, 
 he led her slowly through the thicket of palms and 
 roses, up the steps into the salon of the villa, where 
 Margot and Dick came storming in to receive them on 
 their return from the shopping expedition. Angela 
 Victoria cringed a little at Richard's bold embrace, and 
 her face was diffused with a colour that made her look 
 inexpressibly lovely. 
 
 " It was hard to get up so early and leave everyone 
 and come off by train when we expected to bowl along 
 the Littoral in a motor car ! " Margot told Georgina, 
 when, after the arrival in San Remo, they were drink- 
 ing tea on the balcony of the Villa Mafalda. " But 
 even from the train the coast is superb! The hills 
 look like old, thick-skinned, crouching grey monsters 
 come down to drink in the sea. There are funny little 
 
352 
 
 A Spring Fortnight in France 
 
 towns built on the top of hills ; there are gorges and 
 plains and olive groves and oranges ; and, of course, the 
 great, changeable Mediterranean, with the fashionable 
 villas in splendid gardens. The mountains were first 
 grey, then green, then red ; and the flowers ! the flowers ! 
 Did you see them, Cousin Georgina? Or did you come 
 by night? " 
 
 " Oh, I came quite another way, my dear," she an- 
 swered. " But, Angela, how did your writing come on ? 
 Is it finished? " There was a tinge of sarcasm in 
 Georgina's voice. 
 
 Angela Victoria's face grew crimson. She hesitated 
 for a reply. But Margot answered glibly : " She 
 hasn't got the booJk quite written, Cousin Georgina, but 
 she's got a publisher waiting, and he's coming to fetch 
 it very soon — in an automobile ! " 
 
 Georgina looked astonished, puzzled, then grave. 
 She understood. 
 
 " I see, Angela Victoria, that you are even less fitted 
 to travel alone than I thought."