another. Then Modestine and I mounted the course of the Allier, which
here led us back into Gevaudan towards its sources in the forest of
Mercoire. It was but an inconsiderable burn before we left its guidance.
Thence, over a hill, our way lay through a naked plateau, until we
reached Chasserades at sundown.

The company in the inn kitchen that night were all men employed in survey
for one of the projected railways. They were intelligent and
conversible, and we decided the future of France over hot wine, until the
state of the clock frightened us to rest. There were four beds in the
little upstairs room; and we slept six. But I had a bed to myself, and
persuaded them to leave the window open.

'He, bourgeois; il est cinq heures!' was the cry that wakened me in the
morning (Saturday, September 28th). The room was full of a transparent
darkness, which dimly showed me the other three beds and the five
different nightcaps on the pillows. But out of the window the dawn was
growing ruddy in a long belt over the hill-tops, and day was about to
flood the plateau. The hour was inspiriting; and there seemed a promise
of calm weather, which was perfectly fulfilled. I was soon under way
with Modestine. The road lay for a while over the plateau, and then
descended through a precipitous village into the valley of the Chassezac.
This stream ran among green meadows, well hidden from the world by its
steep banks; the broom was in flower, and here and there was a hamlet
sending up its smoke.

At last the path crossed the Chassezac upon a bridge, and, forsaking this
deep hollow, set itself to cross the mountain of La Goulet. It wound up
through Lestampes by upland fields and woods of beech and birch, and with
every corner brought me into an acquaintance with some new interest. Even