outside, and in walked the aubergiste, accompanied by a sprightly little
man who I afterwards learnt was a pedlar.

Monsieur le maire was not exactly a polished gentleman; he took no notice
of me after the first searching glance. He made an unpleasant impression,
but this wore off when I found that he was a well-meaning man, who had not
cultivated fine manners. Why should he have cultivated what would have been
of little or no use to him? These rural functionaries are just like the
people with whom they live. The young _seminariste_ told me an amusing
story of a mayor of St. Pantaleon, who had had a very narrow escape of
being caught by gendarmes when upon a poaching expedition. '_Tout le monde
est braconnier ici_,' added my informant with a sincerity that was very
pleasing. Of course, he was a poacher himself when reposing from his
theological and philosophical studies. I thought none the worse of him for
that. After all, poaching in France generally means nothing more immoral
than neglecting to take out a gun license, and to respect the President's
decrees with regard to the months that are open and those that are not.

On my way to bed I saw in a corner of the staircase a spinning-wheel of the
pattern known throughout Europe. I was told that it had not been used
for many years. The distaff and spindle which are to be seen on Egyptian
monuments are still employed by thousands of French, peasant-women, but the
wheel invented in the sixteenth century is rarely used now, unless it be by
Martha in the opera.

The next morning I made friends with the pedlar, who was about to start
upon my road, and who offered to give me a lift in his trap as far as La
Roche Canillac. Meanwhile, he had unpacked all his samples of cloth with a
view to doing a little business with the mayor. This personage, however,
was not allowed to have much voice in the matter; it was his spouse who