the trenches. It was the
old story. When he left the hospital, the medical board declared him
unfit for further service and warned him against returning soon to city
life. The hope of recovery lay in open air and sunshine.

"I determined to get well, Monsieur," he said. "I had money saved up. I
bought this wagon and a cinematograph outfit. I go to the little towns
in the Midi. One can take only four sous--two from the children--but I
get along. Now, when I am well, I shall not go back to Paris. Have you
ever lived in a wagon, Monsieur? No? Well, never do it, if you do not
want to realize that it is the only life worth living."

Pierre was interested in the gossip of the Quarter. A frequent "_c'est
vrai_" and "_dites donc_" punctuated my news of American artists who had
gone home at last. When I told him of the few who had sold pictures in
America, his comment was "_epatant_," which he meant in no
uncomplimentary sense. The Artist was an old favorite of Pierre's. I
restrained his impulse to go right out to greet the Artist. Pierre
entered into my idea with alacrity. The dog was given a bone and
chained. The coal box was brought out from the wagon, and turned upside
down for a table beside a fallen tree. When all was ready, I watched
Pierre surprise the Artist. He put a napkin over his arm, and froze his
face. Then he tip-toed up to the Artist's elbow, and announced,
"_Monsieur est servi._" For once I was able to get the Artist away from
his work.

What a meal we did have there beside that little stream! There were
bottles in Pierre's wagon, and he insisted upon opening more than one.
When we finally left Pierre to his dishes, we were well fortified for the
climb to Saint-Paul-du-Var, and in the mood to appreciate
enthusiastically all that was before us.

Above on the left we could see the high road that we had deserted at
Villeneuve-Loubet. It did not come out of its way for Saint-Paul-du-Var,
but went straight on inland Vence-wards. A side road, on the level, came
over towards the gate of Saint-Paul-du-Var. To this road ours mounted,
and joined it just outside the town. In climbing we had the opportunity,
denied to the conventional, of seeing that Saint-Paul-du-Var was really
on the top of a hill. The walls rose sheer, and only the outer houses,
directly behind the ramparts, were in our line of vision. Nearly up to
the entrance to the city we passed between a tiny stone chapel and a
mill