not for me, madame, it is for the traînards (tramps) who pass on the
road," and she explained that all the châteaux gave a piece of bread
and two sous to any wayfarer who asked for food. She cut the bread
into good thick slices, and showed me a wooden bowl on the chimney,
filled with two-sous pieces. While I was there two men appeared at the
big gates, which were always open in the day. They were strong young
fellows carrying their bundles, and a sort of pitchfork slung over
their shoulders. They looked weary and footsore, their shoes worn in
holes. They asked for something to drink and some tobacco, didn't care
very much for the water, which was all that Mme. Antoine had to give
them, but thanked her civilly enough for the bread and sous.

The park wall was a good vantage-ground to see all (and that wasn't
much) that went on on the highroad. The diligence to Meaux passed
twice a day, with a fine rattle of old wheels and chains, and cracking
of whips. It went down the steep hill well enough, but coming up was
quite another affair. All the passengers and the driver got out
always, and even then it was difficult to get the heavy, cumbersome
vehicle up the hill, in winter particularly, when the roads were muddy
and slippery. The driver knew us all well, and was much interested in
all that went on at the château. He often brought parcels, and
occasionally people from the village who wanted to see W.--sometimes a
blind piano-tuner who came from Villers-Cotterets. He was very kind to
the poor blind man, helped him down most carefully from the diligence,
and always brought him through the park gates to the lodge, where he
delivered him over to Antoine. It was curious to see the blind man at
work. Once he had been led through the rooms, he was quite at home,
found the pianos, fussed over the keys and the strings, exactly as if
he saw everything. He tuned all the pianos in the country, and was
much pleased to put his hands on one that wasn't fifty years old. I