I hailed the son, and asked him my direction. He pointed loosely

west and north-west, muttered an inaudible comment, and, without
slackening his pace for an instant, stalked on, as he was going,

right athwart my path. The mother followed without so much as
raising her head. I shouted and shouted after them, but they

continued to scale the hillside, and turned a deaf ear to my
outcries. At last, leaving Modestine by herself, I was constrained

to run after them, hailing the while. They stopped as I drew near,
the mother still cursing; and I could see she was a handsome,

motherly, respectable-looking woman. The son once more answered me
roughly and inaudibly, and was for setting out again. But this

time I simply collared the mother, who was nearest me, and,
apologising for my violence, declared that I could not let them go

until they had put me on my road. They were neither of them
offended - rather mollified than otherwise; told me I had only to

follow them; and then the mother asked me what I wanted by the lake
at such an hour. I replied, in the Scottish manner, by inquiring

if she had far to go herself. She told me, with another oath, that
she had an hour and a half's road before her. And then, without

salutation, the pair strode forward again up the hillside in the
gathering dusk.

I returned for Modestine, pushed her briskly forward, and, after a
sharp ascent of twenty minutes, reached the edge of a plateau. The

view, looking back on my day's journey, was both wild and sad.
Mount Mezenc and the peaks beyond St. Julien stood out in trenchant

gloom against a cold glitter in the east; and the intervening field
of hills had fallen together into one broad wash of shadow, except

here and there the outline of a wooded sugar-loaf in black, here
and there a white irregular patch to represent a cultivated farm,

and here and there a blot where the Loire, the Gazeille, or the
Laussonne wandered in a gorge.

Soon we were on a high-road, and surprise seized on my mind as I
beheld a village of some magnitude close at hand; for I had been

told that the neighbourhood of the lake was uninhabited except by
trout. The road smoked in the twilight with children driving home

cattle from the fields; and a pair of mounted stride-legged women,
hat and cap and all, dashed past me at a hammering trot from the

canton where they had been to church and market. I asked one of
the children where I was. At Bouchet St. Nicolas, he told me.

Thither, about a mile south of my destination, and on the other
side of a respectablesummit, had these confused roads and

treacherous peasantry conducted me. My shoulder was cut, so that
it hurt sharply; my arm ached like toothache from perpetual

beating; I gave up the lake and my design to camp, and asked for
the AUBERGE.

I HAVE A GOAD
THE AUBERGE of Bouchet St. Nicolas was among the least pretentious

I have ever visited; but I saw many more of the like upon my
journey. Indeed, it was typical of these French highlands.

Imagine a cottage of two stories, with a bench before the door; the
stable and kitchen in a suite, so that Modestine and I could hear

each other dining; furniture of the plainest, earthern floors, a
single bedchamber for travellers, and that without any convenience

but beds. In the kitchen cooking and eating go forward side by
side, and the family sleep at night. Any one who has a fancy to

wash must do so in public at the common table. The food is
sometimes spare; hard fish and omelette have been my portion more

than once; the wine is of the smallest, the brandyabominable to
man; and the visit of a fat sow, grouting under the table and

rubbing against your legs, is no impossible accompaniment to
dinner.

But the people of the inn, in nine cases out of ten, show
themselves friendly and considerate. As soon as you cross the

doors you cease to be a stranger; and although these peasantry are
rude and forbidding on the highway, they show a tincture of kind

breeding when you share their hearth. At Bouchet, for instance, I
uncorked my bottle of Beaujolais, and asked the host to join me.

He would take but little.
'I am an amateur of such wine, do you see?' he said, 'and I am

capable of leaving you not enough.'
In these hedge-inns the traveller is expected to eat with his own

knife; unless he ask, no other will be supplied: with a glass, a
whang of bread, and an iron fork, the table is completely laid. My

knife was cordially admired by the landlord of Bouchet, and the
spring filled him with wonder.

'I should never have guessed that,' he said. 'I would bet,' he
added, weighing it in his hand, 'that this cost you not less than

five francs.'
When I told him it had cost me twenty, his jaw dropped.

He was a mild, handsome, sensible, friendly old man, astonishingly
ignorant. His wife, who was not so pleasant in her manners, knew

how to read, although I do not suppose she ever did so. She had a
share of brains and spoke with a cutting emphasis, like one who

ruled the roast.
'My man knows nothing,' she said, with an angry nod; 'he is like

the beasts.'
And the old gentleman signified acquiescence with his head. There

was no contempt on her part, and no shame on his; the facts were
accepted loyally, and no more about the matter.

I was tightly cross-examined about my journey; and the lady
understood in a moment, and sketched out what I should put into my

book when I got home. 'Whether people harvest or not in such or
such a place; if there were forests; studies of manners; what, for

example, I and the master of the house say to you; the beauties of
Nature, and all that.' And she interrogated me with a look.

'It is just that,' said I.
'You see,' she added to her husband, 'I understood that.'

They were both much interested by the story of my misadventures.
'In the morning,' said the husband, 'I will make you something

better than your cane. Such a beast as that feels nothing; it is
in the proverb - DUR COMME UN ANE; you might beat her insensible

with a cudgel, and yet you would arrive nowhere.'
Something better! I little knew what he was offering.

The sleeping-room was furnished with two beds. I had one; and I
will own I was a little abashed to find a young man and his wife

and child in the act of mounting into the other. This was my first
experience of the sort; and if I am always to feel equally silly

and extraneous, I pray God it be my last as well. I kept my eyes
to myself, and know nothing of the woman except that she had

beautiful arms, and seemed no whit embarrassed by my appearance.
As a matter of fact, the situation was more trying to me than to

the pair. A pair keep each other in countenance; it is the single
gentleman who has to blush. But I could not help attributing my

sentiments to the husband, and sought to conciliate his tolerance
with a cup of brandy from my flask. He told me that he was a

cooper of Alais travelling to St. Etienne in search of work, and
that in his spare moments he followed the fatal calling of a maker

of matches. Me he readily enough divined to be a brandy merchant.
I was up first in the morning (Monday, September 23rd), and

hastened my toilette guiltily, so as to leave a clear field for
madam, the cooper's wife. I drank a bowl of milk, and set off to

explore the neighbourhood of Bouchet. It was perishing cold, a
grey, windy, wintry morning; misty clouds flew fast and low; the

wind piped over the naked platform; and the only speck of colour
was away behind Mount Mezenc and the eastern hills, where the sky

still wore the orange of the dawn.
It was five in the morning, and four thousand feet above the sea;