Then DAUBINET, remembering that we are literally "here to-day and gone
to-morrow," says we must visit his friend the Vicomte. I cannot catch
the Vicomte's name; I manage to do so for half an hour at a time, and
then it escapes me. As we are in this champagney country, I write it
down as M. le Vicomte DE CHAMPAGNIAC. We are to dine and sleep there.
A Night in a French Château. "But this is another story."

On our arrival at the Château de Quelquechose we are right royally
and heartily received. Delightful evening. _Vive la Compagnie_!
Magnificent view from my bedroom. In the clear moonlight I can see
right away for miles and miles over the Champagne valleys. At 6.30 we
are in the break, and within an hour or so are "All among the barley,"
as the song used to say, which I now apply to "All amongst the
Vineyards." Peasants at work everywhere: picking and sorting. How
they must dislike grapes! Of course they are all teetotallers, and no
more touch a drop of champagne than a grocer eats his own currants,
or a confectioner his own sweetmeats. I suppose the butcher lives
exclusively on fish, and his friend, the neighbouring fishmonger, is
entirely dependent on the butcher for his sustenance, except when game
is in, and then both deal with the gamester or poulterer. There are
some traders in necessaries who can make a fair deal all round. The
only exception to this rule, for which, from personal observation, I
can vouch, is the tobacconist, who is always smoking his own cigars.

Wonderful this extensive plain of vineyards! and what stunted little
stumps with leaves round them are all these vines! Not in it with
our own graceful hops. No hedges or ditches to separate one owner's
property from another's. To each little or big patch of land there is
a white headstone with initials on it, as if somebody had hurriedly
and unostentatiously been buried on the spot where he fell, killed in