After crossing the river we turned off the high-road and took an
unfrequented way that led through a region called "Chaumes," a very
beautiful place at that time but horribly profaned to-day.

"Chaumes" lay at the entrance of a village whose ancient church we saw
in the distance. As it was public property it had kept intact its native
wildness. This "Chaumes" was a sort of table-land composed of a single
stone, and this rock, which undulated slightly, was covered with a
carpet of short, dry fragrant plants that snapped under our feet; and a
whole world of tiny gayly-colored butterflies and tinier moths fluttered
among the rare and delicate flowers growing there.

Sometimes we passed a flock of sheep guarded by a shepherd much more
countrified looking and tanned than those seen in the meadows about our
town. Lonely and sun-scorched, Chaumes seemed to me the very threshold
of Limoise: it had its very odor, the mingled scent of wild thyme and
sweet marjoram.

At the end of the rocky moor was the hamlet of Frelin. I love this
name of Frelin, for I think of it as being derived from those large
and fierce hornets (frelons) that build their nests in the heart of a
certain species of oak tree found in the forests of Limoise; to get rid
of these pests it is necessary, in the springtime, to build great fires
around the infested trees. This hamlet was composed of three or four
cottages. They were all low, as is the custom of our country, and they
were old, very old and gray; above the little rounded doorways were
half-effaced ornamental Gothic scrolls and blazonments. I scarcely ever
saw them except at dusk, as twilight was falling, and the hour and
the quaint little houses themselves awoke in me an appreciation of the