his side. They were all very like.

[Illustration: "Merci, je vais bien."]

We strolled about the garden a little, and saw lots of pheasants
walking peacefully about at the edge of the woods. They made me
promise to come back one day with W., he to shoot and I to walk about
with the ladies. We saw the children of the fourth generation, and
left with the impression of a happy, simple family party. M. M. was a
conseiller général of the Aisne and a colleague of W.'s. They always
stayed at the same hotel (de la Hure) in Laon at the time of the
conseil général, and M. M. was much amused at first with W.'s baggage:
a large bath-tub, towels (for in small French provincial hotels towels
were microscopic and few in number), and a package of tea, which was
almost an unknown commodity in those days. None of our visitors ever
took any, and always excused themselves with the same phrase, "Merci,
je vais bien," evidently looking upon it as some strange and hurtful
medicine. That has all changed, like everything else. Now one finds
tea not only at all the châteaux, with brioches and toast, but even in
all the hotels, but I wouldn't guarantee what we get there as ever
having seen China or Ceylon, and it is still wiser to take chocolate
or coffee, which is almost always good. We had a lovely drive back.
The forest was beautiful in the waning light. As usual, we didn't meet
any vehicle of any kind, and were quite excited when we saw a carriage
approaching in the distance--however, it proved to be W. in his
dog-cart. We passed through one or two little villages quite lost in
the forest--always the same thing, one long, straggling street, with
nobody in it, a large farm at one end and very often the church at the
other. As it was late, the farm gates were all open, the cattle
inside, teams of white oxen drinking out of a large trough.