I took great care to pay for my glass of white wine before dinner with
a bank-note, and I showed my sketches to my neighbour to make an
impression. I also talked of foreign politics, of the countries I had
seen, of England especially, with such minute exactitude that their
disgust was soon turned to admiration.

The hostess of this inn was delicate and courteous to a degree, and at
every point attempting to overreach her guests, who, as regularly as
she attacked, countered with astonishing dexterity.

Thus she would say: 'Perhaps the joint would taste better if it were
carved on the table; or do the gentlemen prefer it carved aside?'

To which a banker opposite me said in a deep voice: 'We prefer, madam,
to have it carved aside.'

Or she would put her head in and say: 'I can recommend our excellent
beer. It is really preferable to this local wine.'

And my neighbour, a tourist, answered with decision: 'Madame, we find
your wine excellent. It could not be bettered.'

Nor could she get round them on a single point, and I pitied her so
much that I bought bread and wine off her to console her, and I let
her overcharge me, and went out into the afterglow with her
benediction, followed also by the farewells of the middle-class, who
were now taking their coffee at little tables outside the house.

I went hard up the road to Remiremont. The night darkened. I reached