myself if I had as ready a feeling for the virtues of the Trappist; or,
had I been a Catholic, if I should have felt so warmly to the dissenter
of La Vernede. With the first I was on terms of mere forbearance; but
with the other, although only on a misunderstanding and by keeping on
selected points, it was still possible to hold converse and exchange some
honest thoughts. In this world of imperfection we gladly welcome even
partial intimacies. And if we find but one to whom we can speak out of
our heart freely, with whom we can walk in love and simplicity without
dissimulation, we have no ground of quarrel with the world or God.



IN THE VALLEY OF THE MIMENTE


On Tuesday, 1st October, we left Florac late in the afternoon, a tired
donkey and tired donkey-driver. A little way up the Tarnon, a covered
bridge of wood introduced us into the valley of the Mimente. Steep rocky
red mountains overhung the stream; great oaks and chestnuts grew upon the
slopes or in stony terraces; here and there was a red field of millet or
a few apple-trees studded with red apples; and the road passed hard by
two black hamlets, one with an old castle atop to please the heart of the
tourist.

It was difficult here again to find a spot fit for my encampment. Even
under the oaks and chestnuts the ground had not only a very rapid slope,
but was heaped with loose stones; and where there was no timber the hills
descended to the stream in a red precipice tufted with heather. The sun
had left the highest peak in front of me, and the valley was full of the
lowing sound of herdsmen's horns as they recalled the flocks into the