Then comes the young countess, very energetic and smiling, with her short skirt and a bag on her arm, going to market.  She sees me at the window and stops to know if I am going out.  Will I join her at the market?  All the ladies of Valognes do their own marketing and some of the well-known fishwomen and farmers’ wives who come in from the country with poultry would be quite hurt if Madame la Comtesse didn’t come herself to give her orders and have a little talk.  This morning I have been to market with Countess Florian.  The women looked so nice and clean in their short, black, heavily plaited skirts, high white caps, and handkerchiefs pinned over their bodices.  The little stalls went all down the narrow main street and spread out on the big square before the church.  The church is large, with a square tower and fine dome—­nothing very interesting as to architecture.  Some of the stalls were very tempting and the smiling, red-cheeked old women, sitting up behind their wares, were so civil and anxious to sell us something.  The fish-market was most inviting—­quantities of flat white turbots, shining silver mackerel, and fresh crevettes piled high on a marble slab with water running over them.  Four or five short-skirted, bare-legged fisher girls were standing at the door with baskets of fish on their heads.  Florian joined us there and seemed on the best of terms with these young women.  He made all kinds of jokes with them, to which they responded with giggles and a funny little half-courtesy, half-nod.  Both Florians spoke so nicely to all the market people as we passed from stall to stall.  The poultry looked very good—­such fat ducks and chickens.  It was funny to see the bourgeoises of Valognes all armed with a large basket doing their marketing; they looked at the chickens, poked them, lifted them so as to be sure of their weight, and evidently knew to a centime what they had to pay.  I fancy the Norman menagere is a pretty sharp customer and knows exactly what she must pay for everything.  The vegetable stalls were very well arranged—­the most enormous cabbages I ever saw.  I think the old ladies who presided there were doing a flourishing business.  I did not find much to buy—­some gray knitted stockings that I thought would be good for my Mareuil[14] boys and some blue linen blouses with white embroidery, that all the carters wear, and which the Paris dressmakers transform into very pretty summer costumes.  I bought for myself a paper bag full of cherries for a few sous, then left the Florians, and wandered about the streets a little alone.  They are generally narrow, badly paved, with grass growing in the very quiet ones.  There are many large hotels standing well back, entre cour et jardin, the big doors and gate-ways generally heavy and much ornamented—­a great deal of carving on the facades and cornices, queer heads and beasts.  Valognes has not always been the quiet, dull, little provincial town it is to-day.  It has had its brilliant moment, when all the hotels were occupied