But while there was any work to be done out-of-doors, there they were busy from sunrise until dusk.  Supper over, the beasts were looked after.  ‘Then,’ she added, ‘we say our prayers and go to bed.’  She volunteered no statements respecting her ancestry, but when I questioned her concerning the house, she said that her family had been living in it for nearly 300 years.  At one time they were the principal people in the district.  It was true that they had come down in the world, but she felt thankful for the blessings that had been given her, and was satisfied.  The family were all in good health, and that was the main thing.  Her mother was still living with her—­eighty-seven years of age, and had never been ill in her life.

Here was a simple but eloquent story of human vicissitude and uncertainty that was told without a word of regret or repining, and as though it were a tale of no interest to anybody.  This poor, humble woman before me, whose back was still aching from the movement of bending and lifting the flail hour after hour, was, by right of birth, what we call in England a ‘gentlewoman.’  But she was poor, and ignorant of all books except the one that contained her prayers.  She was not less a peasant than any of the women around her, nor did she wish to be thought anything better.  That her ancestors were gentlemen, that, they may have borne a forgotten title (many that were borne in France have been forgotten by the descendants), was as nothing to her.  She clung only to what, in her simple but grand philosophy, was really to be valued—­the blessings of life and health, opportunities of labour, independence, and faith in God.

This woman would only take the equivalent of a shilling for her wine, her coffee, and her food; then she made me drink some of her eau de noix (spirit prepared with the juice of green walnuts), and as I left she pressed more nuts and plums upon me.

The old woman who had never been ill was waiting for me under a tree.  She could not speak a word of French, but she said a great deal in patois, of which all that I could make out was that she was afraid the calour (heat) would hurt me if I left so early in the afternoon.  A little beyond the village I passed a party of threshers, men and women—­two rows of them facing each other like dancers; the figures bending and straightening in unison, and all the. flails whirling together in the air.  They had spread a large cloth upon the ground, and were thrashing out the grain upon it.

A block of granite cropping out of the sandstone indicated a change in the formation, and this came, for the rocks gradually passed into gneiss and schist, frequently covered with moss and ferns, golden-rod in bloom, and purple heather.  St. Geniez by the Lot was reached long before sundown; but although I had the time, I was not tempted to walk any farther that day.

The little town is picturesquely situated on the river-bank, and it has some old houses with turrets, and other interesting details.  There is a late Gothic church that was formerly attached to an Augustinian monastery, of which part of the cloisters remains.  Inside the edifice every flagstone covers a tomb, and in several instances masons’ hammers and other tools are carved upon them.