A fortified cavern and a ruined castle tempted me up the rocks.  On my way I passed a small Gothic house, dating apparently from the fourteenth or fifteenth century, with pointed arched doorway and window lights separated by slender columns with foliated capitals carved by no clumsy rustic workman.  The boy who accompanied me had the key.  As I entered I was met on the threshold by the fragrant odour of the tobacco-plant; I perceived that the mediaeval house was used for drying tobacco-leaves—­a purpose that could never have been in the imagination of the original owner, for those stones were laid together long before the herb, now so precious to the French Government, was brought to Europe.  The stalks with all the leaves attached were hung to strings stretched from wall to wall.  There is much tobacco grown hereabouts in the valley of the Lot, but it is considered too strong for smoking purposes, and is therefore made into snuff.  When the utmost care has been used in its cultivation and drying the price paid by the Government to the grower does not exceed half a franc the pound.  Those who enjoy the privilege of raising it consider the money very hardly earned.

I reached the ruined castle at the foot of the limestone buttresses supporting the plateau above.  Enough is left of the wall to show that it must have been a strong place at one time.  It is attributed by common consent to the English.  Protected on one side by the abrupt rock, it overlooked the valley from a height that to an enemy must have been very difficult of access.  The fortified cavern is in the escarped cliff above the castle, with which there was, perhaps, a secret communication.  The upper part of the wall is gone, but what remains is about ten feet high and nine feet thick.  Swallows build their nests in the roof of the cavern, and the spot is noisy with the harsh cries of countless jackdaws.  These sagacious birds can doubtless tell many stories of the English which they received from their ancestors.

When I returned to the auberge wet and shivering, I found no sympathy, the thoughts of the hostess being occupied by a matter that interested her more deeply.  The badgers had eaten her maize which she needed for fattening the geese, and her tongue was busily employed in wishing them every misfortune, both in time and eternity.  Badgers are very numerous in the district, and they continue to increase and multiply, while the peasants jeopardise their immortal interests by cursing them every time they see a spike of ripening maize pulled down and half stripped of its corn.  In the daytime these animals sleep comfortably, digesting their ill-gotten meal in the holes of the rocks, which are so honeycombed that dogs cannot easily get at the hermits.  Moreover, it is not every dog that likes the prospect of being bitten nearly in half, the badger being much better known than trusted by the canine race.