It is enchanting this afternoon.  We are taking advantage of the fine weather to drive about the country, and show our friends some of our big farms and quaint little villages.  They look exactly as they did a hundred years ago, “when the Cossacks were here,” as they say in the country.  Some of the inns have still kept their old-fashioned signs and names.  Near May, on the road to Meaux, Bossuet’s fine old cathedral town, there is a nice old square red-brick house, “L’Auberge du Veau qui Tete” (The Inn of the Sucking Calf), which certainly indicates that this is great farming country.  There are quantities of big white oxen, cows, and horses in the fields, but the roads are solitary.  One never meets anything except on market day.  The Florians who live in Seine et Marne, which is thickly populated—­villages and chateaux close together—­were much struck with the loneliness and great stretches of wood and plain.

We are praying for fine weather, as rain would be disastrous.  The main street looks really charming.  The green arch is nearly finished, and at night, when everything is illuminated, will be most effective.

22nd.  It rained yesterday afternoon and all night—­not light April showers, but a good, steady downpour.  Francis and Ctesse. de Gontaut arrived from Paris in his little open automobile.  Such a limp, draggled female as emerged from the little carriage I never saw.  They had had some sharp showers; pannes (breakdowns), too, and she says she pushed the carriage up all the hills.  She didn’t seem either tired or cross, and looked quite bright and rested when she reappeared at dinner.

Various friends arrived this morning, and we have been in La Ferte all the afternoon.  The draperies and festoons of flowers don’t look any the worse for the heavy rain, and at least it is over, and we shall probably have sun to-morrow.  The tent is up on the green, and looks fairly large.  I don’t think any one will see anything except in the first eight or ten rows of chairs, but it seems they will all hear.  The stage was being arranged, and, much to our amusement, they told us the Empire chairs and tables had been lent by the Abbe Marechal.  He is a collectionneur, and has some handsome furniture.  We inspected our tea-room, which didn’t look too bad.  Our men were there with tables, china, etc., and when it is all arranged we shall have quite a respectable buffet.  The landlord was very anxious to decorate the tables with greens, flags, and perhaps a bust of Racine with a crown of laurels, but we told him it would be better not to complicate things.

The view was lovely to-day from the top of the hill—­the ruins looking enormous, standing out against the bright blue sky, and soft and pink at the top where the outline was irregular and the walls crumbling a little.  We had some difficulty in collecting our party, and finally discovered Francis, Ctesse de Gontaut and Christiani having chocolate and cakes in the back parlour of the grocer’s shop (nothing like equality on these occasions), who was telling them all the little gossip of the town, and naming the radicals who wouldn’t go to the church.