a shapeless cluster of stone houses and stables, the most prominent
feature of the streets being huge heaps of manure and grape-vine prunings;
but I manage to obtain the necessary shelter, and such other accommodations
as might be expected in an out-of-the-way village, unfrequented by
visitors from one year's end to another. The following morning is still
rainy, and the clayey roads of the Ornain Valley are anything but inviting
wheeling; but a longer stay in Tronville is not to be thought of, for,
among other pleasantries of the place here, the chief table delicacy
appears to be boiled escargots, a large, ungainly snail procured from
the neighboring hills. Whilst fond of table delicacies, I emphatically
draw the line at escargots. Pulling out toward Toul I find the roads,
as expected, barely ridable; but the vineyard-environed little valley,
lovely in its tears, wrings from one praise in spite of muddy roads and
lowering weather. En route down the valley I meet a battery of artillery
travelling from Toul to Bar-le Duc or some other point to the westward;
and if there is any honor in throwing a battery of French artillery into
confusion, and wellnigh routing them, then the bicycle and I are fairly
entitled to it.

As I ride carelessly toward them, the leading horses suddenly wheel
around and begin plunging about the road. The officers' horses, and, in
fact, the horses of the whole company, catch the infection, and there
is a plunging and a general confusion all along the line, seeing which
I, of course, dismount and retire - but not discomfited - from the field
until they have passed. These French horses are certainly not more than
half-trained. I passed a battery of English artillery on the road leading
out of Coventry, and had I wheeled along under the horses' noses there
would have been no confusion whatever.

On the divide between the Ornain and Moselle Valleys the roads are