Vernon, Yacht Sauterelle,

Thursday morning.

[Sidenote:  Vernon]

Dearest Mamma,—­The scenery we came through yesterday is quite beautiful, but I did not pay so much attention to it as I might have done, because Jean and the Comte would talk to me.  You would be amused at Vernon, where we stayed the night in such an inn!  I believe it is the only one in the place, and as old as the hills.  You get at the bedrooms from an open gallery that runs round the courtyard, and that smells of garlic and stables.  We got here about six, and started en masse to inspect the rooms.  Hippolyte had engaged them beforehand, and seemed rather apologetic about them, and finally, when there did not appear half enough to go round, he shrugged his shoulders almost up to his ears and said, “Que voulez vous!” and that “Ces Messieurs” would have to be “tres bourgeois en voyage,” and that there was nothing for it but that Mme. la Comtesse de Tournelle should “partager l’appartement de Monsieur le Comte de Tournelle,” and that Monsieur le Comte de Croixmare would have to extend like hospitality to Mme. la Comtesse de Croixmare.  This caused shrieks of derision.  Heloise said she would prefer to sleep on the dining-room table, and “Antoine” said he thought people ought to be a little more careful of their reputations even en voyage.  Finally they unearthed a baby’s cot in the room that Hippolyte had designed for the Croixmare menage, and de Tournelle said it was the very thing for me, but Jean replied, “Mon cher ami c’est une Bebe beaucoup trop emoustillante,” which I thought very rude, just as if I snored, or something dreadful like that.  Then, after a further prowl, a fearful little hole was discovered beyond, with no curtains to the windows, or blinds, or shutters, just a scrap of net.  The face of Agnes when she saw it!

[Sidenote:  A Necessary Precaution]

Dinner was not until seven, so Jean and I went out for a walk; as Hippolyte advised us to try and find a chemist and buy some flea powder.  “Je trouverai ca plus prudent,” he said.  Jean is getting quite natural with me now, and isn’t so awfully polite.  The chemist took us for a honeymoon couple (as, of course, if I had been French I could not have gone for a walk with Jean alone).  He—­the chemist—­was so sympathetic, he had only one packet of powder left, he said, as so much was required by the voyageurs and inhabitants that he was out of it (that did not sound a pleasant prospect for our night)—­“Mais, madame” (that’s me), “n’est pas assez grasse pour les attirer,” he added by way of consolation.

It was spitting with rain when we got back, and they all made such a fuss for fear I had got wet, and they would not for worlds stir out of doors to see the church or anything, which I heard is very picturesque.  We had such an amusing dinner, the food was wonderful, considering the place, but a horrible cloth and pewter forks and spoons.  There were two officiers at another table (only infantry), and they were so interested in our party.