Shawl-Straps: A Second Series of Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag — France (part 2)

Having seen every thing, and bought photographs _ad libitum_ of the wooden-faced lisper, who cheated awfully, the pilgrims drove away, satiated with relics, royalty, and '_regardez_.'

Another night in the stony-hearted, orange-coloured rooms, with the sleepless _garçon_ sweeping and murmuring outside like a Banshee, while the hens roosted sociably in the gallery, the horses seemed to be champing directly under the bed, and the dead Huguenots bumping down upon the roof from the castle-walls.

Another curious meal wafted from the bowels of the earth and cooled by all the airs that blow,--then the shawl-straps were girded anew, the carriage (a half-grown omnibus with the jaundice) mounted, the farewell bows and adieux received, and forth rumbled the duchesses _en route_ for Blois.

'My heart is rent at leaving that lovely _château_,' said Mat, as they crossed the bridge.

'I mourn the earth-worms, the cacti, and the tireless "gossoon,"' added Amanda, who appreciated French cookery and had enjoyed confidences with Adolphe.

'The cats, the cats, the cats!

I could die happy if I had one,' murmured Lavinia; and with these laments they left the town behind them.

Any thing hotter than Blois, with its half dried-up river, dusty boulevards, and baked streets, can hardly be imagined.

But these indomitable women 'did' the church and the castle without flinching.

The former was pronounced a failure, but the latter was entirely satisfactory.

The Emperor was having it restored in the most splendid manner.

The interior seemed rather fresh and gay when contrasted with the time-worn exterior, but the stamped leathern hangings, tiled floors, emblazoned beams, and carved fireplaces were quite correct.

Dragons and crowns, porcupines and salamanders, monograms and flowers, shone everywhere in a maze of scarlet and gold, brown and silver, purple and white.

Here the historical Amanda revelled, and quenched the meek old guide with a burst of information which caused him to stare humbly at 'the mad English.'

'_Regardez_, my dears, the chamber and oratory of Catherine de Medicis, who here plotted the death of the Duc de Guise.

This is the cabinet of her son, Henri III.

, where he gave the daggers to the gentlemen who were to rid him of his enemy, the hero of the barricades.

This is the Salle des Gardes, where Guise was leaning on the chimney-piece when summoned to the king.

This is the little room at the entrance of which he was set upon in the act of lifting the drapery, and stabbed with forty wounds.'

'Oh!

how horrid!'

gasped Matilda, staring about as if she saw the sanguinary gentlemen approaching.

'So interesting!

Do go on!'

cried Lavinia, who was fond of woe, and enjoyed horrors.

'This is the hall where the body lay for two hours, covered with a cloak and a cross of straw on the breast,' cut in Amanda, as the guide opened his mouth.

'Here the king came to look upon the corpse of the once mighty Henri le Balafré, and spurned it with his foot, saying, I shall not translate it for you, Mat,--"_Je ne le croyais pas aussi grand_" and then ordered it to be burnt, and the ashes cast into the river.

Remember the date, I implore you, December 23, 1588.' As Amanda paused for breath the little man took the word, and rattled off a jumble of facts and fictions about the window from which Marie de Medicis lowered herself when imprisoned here by her dutiful son, Louis XIII.

'I wish the entire lot had been tossed out after her, for I do think kings and queens are a set of rascals,' cried Mat, scandalized by the royal iniquities to which she had been listening, till the hair stood erect upon her innocent head.

The Salle des États was being prepared for the trial of the men who had lately attempted the Emperor's life, and a most theatrical display of justice was to be presented to the public.

The richly carved stair-case, with Francis the First's salamanders squirming up and down it, was a relic worth seeing; but the parched pilgrims found the little pots of clotted cream quite as interesting, and much more refreshing, when they were served up at lunch (the pots, not the pilgrims), each covered with a fresh vine-leaf, and delicately flavoured with butter-cups and clover.

Amanda won the favour of the stately _garçon_ by praising them warmly, and he kept bringing in fresh relays, and urging her to eat a third, a fourth, with a persuasive dignity hard to resist.

'But yes, Mademoiselle, one more, for nowhere else can _crême de St. Gervais_ be achieved.

They are desired, ardently desired, in Paris; but, alas!

it is impossible to convey them so far, such is their exquisite delicacy.'

How many the appreciative ladies consumed, the muse saith not; but the susceptible heart of the great _garçon_ was deeply touched, and it was with difficulty that they finally escaped from his attentions.

On being presented with a cast-off camp-stool, and a pair of old boots to dispose of, he instantly appropriated them as graceful souvenirs, and clasping his hands, declared with effusion that he would seat his infant upon the so-useful stool, and offer the charming boots to Madame my wife, who would weep for joy at this touching _tableau_.

With this melodramatic valedictory, he suffered the guests to depart, and the last they saw of him, he was still waving a dirty napkin as he stood at the gate, big, bland, and devoted to the end, though the drops stood thick upon his manly brow, and the sun glared fiercely on his uncovered head.

'I shall write an article on _garçons_ when I get home,' said Lavinia, who was always planning great works and never executing them.

'We have known such a nice variety, and all have been so good to us that we owe them a tribute.

You remember the dear, tow-headed one at Morlaix, who insisted on handing us dishes of snails, and papers of pins with which to pick out the repulsive delicacy?'

'Yes, and the gloomy one with black linen sleeves who glowered at us, sighed gustily in our ears, and anointed us with gravy as he waited at table,' added Amanda.

'Don't forget the dark one with languid, Spanish eyes and curly hair, on the boat going down the Rance.

How picturesque and polite he was, to be sure, as he kept picking up our beer-bottles when they rolled about the deck!'

put in Mat, who had the dark youth safely in her sketch-book, with eyes as big and black as blots.

'The solemn one at Tours, who squirted seltzer-water out of window at the beggars, without a smile, was very funny.

So was the little one with grubby hands, who tottered under the big dishes, but insisted on carrying the heaviest.'

'The fast-trotter at Amboise won my heart, he was so supernaturally lively, and so full of hurried amiability.

A very dear _garçon_ indeed.'

'Be sure you remember the superb being at Brest, whose eyes threatened to fall out of his head at exciting moments.

Also, Flabot's chubby boy who adored Mat, and languished at her, over the onions, like a Cupid in a blue blouse.'

'I will do justice to everyone,' and Lavinia took copious notes on the spot.

Orleans was a prim, tidy town, and after taking a look at the fine statue of the Maid, and laughing at some funny little soldiers drumming wildly in the _Place_, our travellers went on to Bourges.

'This, now, is a nice, dingy old place, and we will take our walks abroad directly, for it looks like rain, and we must make the most of our time and money,' said Amanda;

'For, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind.'

Forth they went, as soon as dinner was over, and found the waters all abroad also; for every man was playing away with a hose, every woman scrubbing her door-steps, and the children gaily playing leap-frog in the puddles.

'Nasty, damp place!'

croaked the Raven, obscuring her disgusted countenance behind the inevitable grey cloud, and gathering her garments about her, as they hopped painfully over the wet stones, for sidewalks there were none.

'I find it refreshing after the dust and heat.

Please detach Mat from that shop window, and come on, or we shall see nothing before dark,' replied the ever amiable Amanda.

Matilda _would_ glue herself to every jeweller's window, and remain fascinated by the richness there displayed, till led away by force.

On this occasion, however, her mania led to good results; for, at the ninth window, as her keepers were about to drag her away, a ring of peculiar antiquity caught their eyes simultaneously, and, to Mat's amazement, both plunged into the little shop, clamouring to see it.

A pale emerald, surrounded by diamond chippings set in silver, with a wide gold band cut in a leafy pattern, composed this gem of price.

'A Francis First ring, sold by a noble but impoverished family, and only a hundred francs, Madame,' said the man, politely anxious to cheat the fair foreigners out of four times its value.

'Can't afford it,' and Lavinia retired.

But the shrewd Amanda, with inimitable shrugs and pensive sighs, regretted that it was so costly.

'A sweet ring; but, alas!

forty francs is all I have to give.'

The man was desolated to think that eighty francs was the lowest he was permitted to receive.

Would Madame call again, and perhaps it might be arranged?

Ah, no!

Madame is forced to depart early, to return no more.

_Mon Dieu!

_ how afflicting!

In that case, sixty would be possible for so rare a relic.

Madame is _abîmé_, but it is not to be.

Forty is the utmost; therefore _Merci_, and _Bonjour_.

'Hold!

Where shall it be sent?'

cries the man, giving in, but not confessing it, with awkward frankness.

A thousand thanks!

Madame will pay for it at once; and laying down the money, she sweetly bows herself away, with the ring upon her finger.

'What a people!'

ejaculated Lavinia, who always felt like a fly in a cobweb when she attempted to deal with the French, in her blunt, confiding way.

'It is great fun,' answered Amanda, flashing her ring with satisfaction after the skirmish.

'Will Madame kindly direct me to the house of Jacques Coeur?'

she added, addressing an old woman clattering by in _sabots_.

'Allez toujours à droit en vous appuyant sur la gauche,' replied the native, beaming and bowing till the streamers of her cap waved in the wind.

They followed these directions, but failed to find the place, and applied to another old woman eating soup on her door-step.

'Suivez le chemin droit en tombant à gauche' was the reply, with a wave of the spoon to all the points of the compass.

'Great heavens, what a language!'

cried Lavinia, who had been vainly endeavouring to 'support' herself, as she 'fell' in every direction over and into the full gutters.

The house was found at last, an ancient, mysterious place, with a very curious window, carved to look as if the shutters were half open, and from behind one peeped a man's head, from the other a woman's, both so life-like that it quite startled the strangers.

Murray informed the observers that these servants are supposed to be looking anxiously for their master's return, Jacques having suddenly disappeared, after lending much money to the king, who took that mediæval way of paying his debts.

Service was being held in the church, and the ladies went in to rest and listen, for the music was fine.

Much red and white drapery gave the sanctuary the appearance of a gay drawing-room, and the profane Lavinia compared the officiating clergy to a set of red furniture.

The biggest priest was the sofa, four deacons the arm-chairs, and three little boys the foot-stools, all upholstered in crimson silk, and neatly covered with lace tidies.

As if to rebuke her frivolity, a lovely fresh voice from the hidden choir suddenly soared up like a lark, singing so wonderfully that a great stillness fell on the listeners, and while it lasted the tawdry church and its mummery were quite forgotten, as the ear led the heart up that ladder of sweet sounds to heaven.

Even when the others joined in, one could still hear that child-voice soaring and singing far above the rest, as if some little angel were playing with the echoes among the arches of the roof.

A proud native informed the strangers that it was a poor boy whose exquisite voice was the pride of the town, and would in time make his fortune.

As the choir-boys came racing down stairs after service, pulling off their dingy robes as they ran, Lavinia tried to pick out the little angel, but gave it up in despair, for a more uninteresting set of bullet-headed, copper-coloured sprigs she never saw.

Rain drove the wanderers back to the hotel, and there they made a night of it.

Ordering a fire in the largest of the three stuffy little cells which they occupied, they set about being comfortable, for it had turned chilly, and a furious wind disported itself in and out through numberless crevices.

Lavinia was inspired to mull some wine, and brewed a mild jorum that cheered, but did not inebriate.

Amanda produced her Shakspeare, and read aloud while the simmering and sipping went on.

Matilda sketched the noble commander as she lay upon the sofa, with her Egyptian profile in fine relief, and her aristocratic red slippers gracefully visible.

A large grey cat of a social turn joined the party, and added much to the domesticity of the scene by sitting on the hearth in a cosy bunch and purring blissfully.

'Now it is your turn to propose something for the general amusement, Mandy,' said Mat, when the beakers were drained dry and the Montagues and Capulets comfortably buried.

'Let us attend to the culture of our nails,' replied Amanda, producing her _polissoir_, powder, and knife.

Three cups of tepid water were produced, and the company sat eagerly soaking their finger tips for a time, after which much pruning and polishing went on, to the great bewilderment of Puss, who poked her own paws into the cups, as if trying to test the advantages of this remarkable American custom.

'What _would_ our blessed mother say if she saw us now?'

said Mat, proudly examining ten pointed pink nails at the tips of her long fingers.

'People told us we should get demoralised if we came abroad, and this is the first step on the downward road,' returned Lavinia, shaking her head over her own backslidings.

'No: it's the second step.

We ate calves' brains for dinner, and what I'm sure were frogs' legs with mushrooms.

You know we vowed we wouldn't touch their horrid messes, but I really begin to like them,' confessed Mat, who had pronounced every dish at dinner 'De-licious!'

'Ha!

I will write a poem!'

cried Amanda, and leaping from the sofa she grasped her pen, flung open her portfolio, and in a few brief moments produced these inspired stanzas.

THE DOWNWARD ROAD.

Two Yankee maids of simple mien, And earnest, high endeavour, Come sailing to the land of France, To escape the winter weather.

When first they reached that vicious shore They scorned the native ways, Refused to eat the native grub, Or ride in native shays.

'Oh, for the puddings of our home!

Oh, for some simple food!

These horrid, greasy, unknown things, How can you think them good?'

Thus to Amanda did they say, An uncomplaining maid, Who ate in peace and answered not Until one day they said-- How _can_ you eat this garbage vile Against all nature's laws?

How _can_ you eat your nails in points, Until they look like claws?'

Then patiently Amanda said, 'My loves, just wait a while, The time will come you will not think The nails or victuals vile.'

A month has passed, and now we see That prophecy fulfilled;

The ardour of those carping maids Is most completely chilled.

Matilda was the first to fall, Lured by the dark gossoon, In awful dishes one by one She dipped her timid spoon.

She promised for one little week To let her nails grow long, But added in a saving clause She thought it very wrong.

Thus did she take the fatal plunge, Did compromise with sin, Then all was lost; from that day forth French ways were sure to win.

Lavinia followed in her train, And ran the self-same road, Ate sweet-bread first, then chopped-up brains, Eels, mushrooms, pickled toad.

She cries, 'How flat the home _cuisine_ After this luscious food!

Puddings and brutal joints of meat, That once we fancied good!'

And now in all their leisure hours One resource never fails, Morning and noon and night they sit And polish up their nails.

Then if in one short fatal month A change like this appears, Oh, what will be the next result When they have stayed for years?

Tremendous applause greeted this masterly effort, and other poems were produced with the rapidity of genius by Amanda and Lavinia, each writing the alternate verse, _à la_ Beaumont and Fletcher, which gave a peculiar charm to these effusions.

When Matilda was called upon for a festive suggestion, she promptly replied, with a graceful yawn:-- 'Let's go to bed.'

The meeting, therefore, broke up, and the younger ladies retired to their cells in good order.

But the Raven, excited by the jocund hour, continued to rustle and patter about the warm room in a state of inexpressible hilarity, most exasperating to the others, who desired to sleep.

Not content with upsetting the fire-irons occasionally, singing to the cat, and slamming the furniture about, this restless bird kept appearing first at one cell door with a conundrum, then at the other with a joke, or insisted on telling funny stories in her den, till the exhausted victims implored her to take an opium pill and subside before they became furious.

She obeyed, and after a few relapses into wandering and joking, finally slumbered.

Then occurred the one thrilling adventure of this happy journey.

In the darkest hour before dawn Mat awoke, heard a suspicious noise in the middle room, and asked if Lavinia was on the rampage again.

No reply, and, listening, a low, rasping, rustling sound was heard.

'Thieves, of course.

Our watches and purses are on the table, and Lavinia has probably forgotten to lock the door.

I must attend to this.'

And up rose the dauntless Matilda, who feared neither man nor ghost.

Grasping her dagger, hitherto used as a paper cutter, but always eager to be steeped in the gore of brigands, robbers, or beasts of prey, she crept to the door and peeped in.

The pale glow of the fire showed her a dark figure crouching in the opposite door-way.

The click of a pistol caught her ear, but dodging quickly, the heroic girl cried sternly from the shelter of Lavinia's bed-curtain,-- 'Come out, or I'll fire!'

'Mio Dio!

is it only you?'

answered a familiar voice, as Amanda, shrouded in a waterproof, sprang up and lit a match.

'What are you prowling about for?'

demanded Mat.

'To blow your brains out, apparently,' answered Mandy, lowering her arms.

'Why are you abroad?'

'To stab you, I fancy,' and Mat sheathed her dagger balked of its prey.

'I heard a noise.'

'So did I.' 'Let's see what it is,' and lighting a candle, the fair Amazons looked boldly about the shadowy room.

Lavinia lay wrapt in slumber, with only the end of her sarcastic nose visible beyond the misty cloud that enveloped her venerable countenance.

The outer door was fast, and the shutters closed.

No booted feet appeared below the curtains, no living eyes rolled awfully in the portrait of the salmon-coloured saint upon the wall.

Yet the rustling and rasping went on, and with one impulse the defenders of sleeping innocence made for the table in the corner.

There was the midnight robber at his fell work!

--the big cat peacefully gnawing the cold chicken, and knocking about the treasured crusts dragged from the luncheon-basket carefully packed for an early start.

'Wake and behold the ruin your pet has made!'

'We might be murdered or carried off a dozen times over without her knowing it.

Here's a nice duenna!'

And the indignant ladies shook, pinched, and shouted till the hapless sleeper opened one eye, and wrathfully demanded what the matter was.

They told her with eloquent brevity, but instead of praising their prowess, and thanking them with fervour, the ungrateful woman shut her eye again, merely saying with drowsy irascibility,-- 'You told me to go to sleep, and I went; next time fight it out among yourselves, but don't wake me.'

'Throw the cat out of window and go to bed, Mat,' and Amanda uncocked her pistol with the resignation of one who had learned not to expect gratitude in this world.

'Touch a hair of that dear creature and I'll raise the house!'

cried Lavinia, roused at once.

Puss, who had viewed the fray sitting bolt upright on the table, now settled the vexed question by skipping into Lavinia's arms, feeling with the instinct of her race that her surest refuge was there.

Mat retired in silent disgust, and the Raven fell asleep soothed by the grateful purring of her furry friend.

'Last night's experiences have given me a longing for adventures,' said Mat, as they journeyed on next morning.

'I've had quite enough of that sort,' growled Lavinia.

'Let us read our papers, and wait for time to send us something in the way of a lark,' and Amanda obscured herself in a grove of damp newspapers.

Lavinia also took one and read bits aloud to Mat, who was mending her gloves, bright yellow, four-buttoned, and very dirty.

'Translate as you go along--I do so hate that gabble,' begged Mat, who would _not_ improve her mind.

So Lavinia gave her a free translation which convulsed Amanda behind her paper.

Coming to this passage, 'Plusieurs faits graves sont arrivés,' the reader rendered it, 'Several made graves have arrived,' adding, 'Dear me, what singular customs the French have, to be sure!'

A little farther on she read, 'Un portrait de feu Monsieur mon père,' adding, 'A fire portrait means a poker sketch, I suppose.'

Here a smothered giggle from Amanda caused the old lady to say 'Bless you!'

thinking the dear girl had sneezed.

'I must have some blue cotton to mend my dress with.

Remind me to get some at Moulins.

By the way, how do you ask for it in French?'

said Mat, surveying a rent in her skirts.

'Oh, just go in and say, "Avez-vous le fils bleu?"

' replied Lavinia, with a superior air.

'A blue son!

My precious granny, what will you say next?'

murmured Amanda, faint with suppressed laughter.

'What are you muttering about?'

asked Granny, sharply.

'Trying to recall those fine lines in "Wilhelm Meister;" don't you remember?

"Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen ass,"' replied Amanda, polite even at the last gasp.

'I read my Goethe in decent English, and don't know anything about training asses,' returned Lavinia, severely.

That was too much!

Amanda cast her paper down, and had her laugh out, as the only means of saving herself from suffocation.

The others gazed upon her in blank amazement, till she found breath enough to enlighten them, when such peals of merriment arose, that the guard popped his head in to see if he had not unwittingly shipped a load of lunatics.

'That was splendid!

But now we must sober down, for a gorgeous being is about to get in,' said Amanda, as they stopped at a station.

The gorgeous being entered, and found three demure ladies rapt in newspapers.

They apparently saw nothing but the words before them; yet every one of them knew that the handsome young man had bowed in the most superior manner; also, that he was dressed in brown velvet, long gaiters, buttoned to the knee, a ravishing blue tie, buff gloves, and pouch and powder-horn slung over his shoulder.

Also, that a servant with two dogs and a gun had touched his hat and said, 'Oui, monsieur le comte,' as he shut the door.

A slight thrill pervaded the statues as this fact was made known, and each began to wonder how the elegant aristocrat would behave.

To say that he stared, feebly expresses the fixity of his noble gaze, as it rested in turn upon the three faces opposite.

When satisfied, he also produced a paper and began to read.

But Matilda caught a big, black eye peering over the sheet more than once, as she peered over the top of her own.

'I don't like him.

Remember, we don't speak French,' whispered the discreet Amanda.

'I can swear that I don't,' said Lavinia, with an irrepressible smile, as she remembered the 'blue son.'

'The language of the eye is not forbidden me, and I can't sit baking under a newspaper all the way,' returned Matilda, whose blond curls had evidently met with the great creature's approval.

A slight pucker about the Comte's lips caused a thrill of horror to pervade the ladies, as Amanda murmured under her breath,-- 'He may understand English!'

'Then we are lost!'

returned the tragic Raven.

'Wish he did.

I really pine for a little attention.

It gives such a relish to life,' said Matilda, thinking regretfully of the devoted beings left behind.

The prudent Amanda and the stern Lavinia steeled their hearts, and iced their countenances to the comely gentleman.

But the social Matilda could not refrain from responding to his polite advances, with a modest 'Merci, Monsieur,' as he drew the curtain for her, a smile when he picked up the unruly curling-stick, and her best bow as he offered his paper with a soft glance of the black eyes.

In vain Amanda tried to appal her with awful frowns; in vain Lavinia trod warningly upon her foot: she paid no heed, and left them no hope but the saving remembrance that she couldn't talk French.

'If the man don't get out soon, I'll tie her up in my shawl, and tell him she is mad,' resolved Lavinia, whose spinster soul was always scandalised at the faintest approach to a flirtation.

'If the man does speak English, Mat will have it all her own way,' thought Amanda, remembering the vow imposed upon the reckless girl.

Alas, alas for the anxious twain!

The man did _not_ get out soon, the man _did_ speak English, and in ten minutes Matilda was off, like a colt without a halter.

The anguish of her keepers added zest to the fun, and finding that the gentleman evidently thought her the lady of the party (owing to the yellow gloves, smartest hat, and irreproachable boots), and the others in sober gray and black, were maid and duenna, this reprehensible girl kept up the joke, put on airs, and enjoyed that flirtatious hour to her heart's content.

As if to punish the others for their distrust, and to reward Mat's interest in him, M. le Comte devoted himself to Mademoiselle, telling her about his hunting, his estate, and finished by inviting her and her party to call and view his _château_, if they ever paused at the town, which had the honour of being his summer residence.

Mat responded to all these courtesies with confiding sweetness, and when at length he was desolated at being obliged to tear himself away, she 'Gave sigh for sigh,' as he retired with a superb bow, a gallant 'Bon voyage, mesdames,' and a wicked twinkle of the black eyes as they rested on the faces of the frozen ladies.

'I got rather the best of the joke in that little affair: didn't I?'

said Mat, gayly, as the brown velvet Adonis vanished.

'You are a disgrace to your party and your nation,' sternly responded Amanda.

Lavinia spoke not, but shook her little sister till the hat flew off her head, and she had only breath enough left to declare with unquenched ardour that she would do it again the very next chance she got.

Lectures, laughter, and longings for 'my Comte' beguiled the remainder of the way, and _Moulang_ (as Mat pronounced Moulins) was reached after a pleasant trip through a green country, picturesque with the white cattle of Berri.

There was not much to see, but the town was so quaint and quiet, that Amanda was seized with one of her remarkable projects.

'Let us find a little house somewhere and stay a week or two.

I fain would rest and ruminate among the white cows for a while; have a little washing done, and slowly prepare to emerge into the world again.

Lyons is our next point, and there we must bid adieu to freedom and shawl-straps.'

'Very well, dear,' responded Lavinia, with resignation, having learned that the best way to curb these aberrations of genius was to give in, and let circumstances prove their impracticability.

So Amanda inquired of the landlady if such a rustic cot could be found.

Whereupon the dingy little woman clasped her dingy little hands, and declared that she had exactly the charming retreat desired.

Truly yes, and she would at once make her toilette, order out the carriage, and display this lovely villa to the dear ladies.

With many misgivings the three squeezed themselves into a square clothes-basket on wheels, drawn by an immense, bony, white horse, driven by a striped boy, and adorned by Madame, in a towering bonnet, laden with amazing fruit, flowers, and vegetables.

Lavinia counted three tomatoes, a bunch of grapes, poppies and pansies, wheat ears and blackberry-vines, a red, red rose, and one small lettuce, with glass dewdrops and green grubs lavishly sprinkled over it.

A truly superb _chapeau_ and a memorable one.

Away they trundled through stony streets, dusty roads, waste grounds, marshy meadows, and tumbled-down pleasure-gardens, till the clothes-basket turned down a lane, and the bony horse stopped at length before a door in a high red wall.

'Behold!'

cried madame, leading them with much clanking of keys, into a cabbage-garden.

A small tool-house stood among the garden-stuff, with brick floors, very dirty windows, and the atmosphere of a tomb.

Bags of seed, wheel-barrows, onions, and dust cumbered the ground.

Empty bottles stood on the old table, cigar ends lay thick upon the hearth, and a trifle of gay crockery adorned the mantel-piece.

'See, then, here is a _salon_, so cool, so calm.

Above is a room with beds, and around the garden where the ladies can sit all day.

A maid can achieve the breakfast here, and my carriage can come for them to dine at the hotel.

Is it not charmingly arranged?

'It is simply awful,' said Mat, aghast at the prospect.

'Settle it as you like, dear, only I'm afraid I couldn't stay _very_ long on account of the dampness,' observed Lavinia, cheerfully, as she put a hoe-handle under her feet and wiped the blue mould from a three-legged chair.

'It won't do, so I'll tell her you are an invalid and very particular,' said Amanda, with another inspiration, as she led the landlady forth to break the blow tenderly.

'My neuralgia is useful if it isn't ornamental; and what a comfort that is!'

said Lavinia, as she lightly threw a large cockroach out of window, dodged a wasp, and crushed a fat spider.

And so it was in many ways.

If the party wanted a car to themselves, Granny was ordered to lie down and groan dismally, which caused other travellers to shun the poor invalid.

If rooms did not suit, suffering Madame _must_ have sun or perish.

Late lunches, easy carriages, extra blankets, every sort of comfort was for her, whether she wanted them or not.

'Shall I be sick or well?'

was always the first question when an invitation came, for 'my sister's delicate health' was the standing excuse when parties palled, or best gowns were not get-at-able.

While Amanda conferred with the hostess among the cabbages, Mat discovered that the picturesque white cattle in the field close by were extremely fierce and unsocial; that there was no house in sight, and the venerable horse and shay would never sustain many trips to and fro to dinner at the hotel.

Lavinia poked about the house, and soon satisfied herself that it abounded in every species of what Fanny Kemble calls 'entomological inconvenience,' and an atmosphere admirably calculated to introduce cholera to the inhabitants of Moulins.

'It is all settled; let us return,' said Amanda, appearing at last with an air of triumph, having appeased the old lady by eating green currants, and admiring an earwiggy arbour, commanding a fine view of a marsh where frogs were piping and cool mists rising as the sun set.

The chickens were tough at dinner, the wine bitter, the bread sour, but no one reproached Amanda as the cause of this change.

And when the hostess bowed them out, next day, without a smile, they drove away, conscious only of deep gratitude that they were saved from leaving their bones to moulder among the cabbages of Moulins.

'Now we return to civilisation, good clothes, and Christian food,' said Lavinia, as they surveyed their fine rooms at the Grand Hotel, Lyons.

'Likewise letters and luggage,' added Amanda, as the maid brought in a bundle of letters, and two porters came bumping up with the trunks.

'Well, I've enjoyed the trip immensely, though nothing very remarkable has happened,' said Mat, diving into her private ark with satisfaction.

'I should like to wander in the wilderness for years, if I could hear from my family at intervals,' said Lavinia, briskly breaking open the plump, travel-worn letters.

'Then you consider our trip a success?'

asked Amanda, pausing in the act of removing the dust from her noble countenance.

'A perfect success!

We have done what we planned, had no mishaps, seen and enjoyed much, quarrelled not at all, laughed a great deal, and been altogether festive, thanks to you.

I shall hang my shawl-strap on the castle wall as a trophy of the prowess of my Amanda, and the success of the last Declaration of American Independence,' replied Lavinia.

'I, also,' said Mat, opening her bundle for the one hundreth and last time.

'You do me proud; I humbly thank you,' and with a superb curtsy the commander-in-chief modestly retired behind the towel.

IV. _SWITZERLAND.

_