The wind fell during dinner, and the sky remained clear; so it was under
better auspices that I loaded Modestine before the monastery gate. My
Irish friend accompanied me so far on the way. As we came through the
wood, there was Pere Apollinaire hauling his barrow; and he too quitted
his labours to go with me for perhaps a hundred yards, holding my hand
between both of his in front of him. I parted first from one and then
from the other with unfeigned regret, but yet with the glee of the
traveller who shakes off the dust of one stage before hurrying forth upon
another. Then Modestine and I mounted the course of the Allier, which
here led us back into Gevaudan towards its sources in the forest of
Mercoire. It was but an inconsiderable burn before we left its guidance.
Thence, over a hill, our way lay through a naked plateau, until we
reached Chasserades at sundown.
The company in the inn kitchen that night were all men employed in survey
for one of the projected railways. They were intelligent and
conversible, and we decided the future of France over hot wine, until the
state of the clock frightened us to rest. There were four beds in the
little upstairs room; and we slept six. But I had a bed to myself, and
persuaded them to leave the window open.
'He, bourgeois; il est cinq heures!' was the cry that wakened me in the
morning (Saturday, September 28th). The room was full of a transparent
darkness, which dimly showed me the other three beds and the five
different nightcaps on the pillows.
