Moret lies less in its historic monuments and antiquated streets than in
its _chemins qui marchent_, its ever reposeful water-ways. Like most
French towns Moret is linked with English history. Its fine old church
was consecrated by Thomas a-Becket in 1166. Three hundred years later
the town was taken by Henry V., and re-taken by Charles VII. a decade
after. Not long since five hundred skulls supposed to have been those of
English prisoners were unearthed here; as they were all found massed
together, the theory is that the entire number had surrendered and been
summarily decapitated, methods of warfare that have apparently found
advocates in our own day.

Most visitors to Paris will have had pointed out to them the so-called
"Maison Francois Premier" on the Cour La Reine. This richly ornate and
graceful specimen of Renaissance architecture formerly stood at Moret,
and bit by bit was removed to the capital in 1820. A spiral stone
staircase and several fragments of heraldic sculpture were left behind.
Badly placed as the house was here, it seems a thousand pities that
Moret should have thus been robbed of an architectural gem Paris could
well have spared.

My first stay at Moret three years ago lasted several weeks. I had
joined friends occupying a pretty little furnished house belonging to
the officiating Mayor. We lived after simplest fashion but to our
hearts' content. One of those indescribably obliging women of all work,
came every day to cook, clean and wait on us. Most of our meals were
taken among our flower beds and raspberry bushes. The only drawback to
enjoyment may at first sight appear unworthy of mention, but it was not
so. We had no latchkey. Now as every-one of all work knows, they are
constantly popping in and out of doors, one moment they are off to
market, the next to warm up their husbands' soup, and so on and so on.