more was wanting in the descent towards the Mediterranean.

The accommodation was not of a high order, but whenever there was a
halt near a good inn, Madame de Bourke and the children landed for the
night. And in the fine days of early autumn the deck was delightful,
and to dine there on the provisions brought on board was a perpetual
feast to Estelle and Ulysse.

The weather was beautiful, and there was a constant panorama of fair
sights and scenes. Harvest first, a perfectly new spectacle to the
children and then, as they went farther south, the vintage. The beauty
was great as they glided along the pleasant banks of Rhone.

Tiers of vines on the hillsides were mostly cut and trimmed like
currant bushes, and disappointed Arthur, who had expected festoons on
trellises. But this was the special time for beauty. The whole
population, in picturesque costumes, were filling huge baskets with the
clusters, and snatches of their merry songs came pealing down to the
coche d'eau, as it quietly crept along. Towards evening groups were
seen with piled baskets on their heads, or borne between them, youths
and maidens crowned with vines, half-naked children dancing like little
Bacchanalians, which awoke classical recollections in Arthur and
delighted the children.

Poor Madame de Bourke was still much depressed, and would sit dreaming
half the day, except when roused by some need of her children, some
question, or some appeal for her admiration. Otherwise, the lovely
heights, surmounted with tall towers, extinguisher-capped, of castle,
convent, or church, the clear reaches of river, the beautiful turns,
the little villages and towns gleaming white among the trees, seemed to