s. I did not accompany him. Saint-Paul-du-Var was a delightful
memory, and I wanted to keep it.

CHAPTER IV

VILLENEUVE-LOUBET

On a hill a mile or so back from the Cannes-Nice road, just before one
reaches Cagnes, a castle of unusual size and severity of outline rises
above the trees of a park. The roads from Cagnes to Grasse and Vence
bifurcate at the foot of the hill on which the castle is built. What one
thinks of the castle depends upon which road one takes. The traveler on
the Vence road sees a pretentious entrance, constructed for automobiles,
with a twentieth-century iron gate and a twentieth-century porter's
lodge. The park looks well groomed. The wall along the Vence side is as
new as the gate and the lodge. The stone of the castle is white and
fresh. One dismisses the castle as an imitation or a wholesale
restoration by an architect lacking in imagination and cleverness. But
if the left hand road toward Grasse is taken, one sees twelfth-century
fortifications coming down from the top of the hill to the roadside.
There are ruins of bastions and towers overgrown with bushes and ivy.
Farther along an old town is revealed climbing the hill to the castle.
There is nothing _nouveau riche_ about Villeneuve-Loubet. The only
touches of the modern are the motor road with kilometer stones, the iron
bridge over the Loup, and the huge sign informing you that the hotel is
near by.

Had we limited our inland exploration to the Vence side of the hill, the
Artist and I would not have discovered Villeneuve-Loubet. Had we been
hurrying through toward Grasse in automobile or tram, we would probably
have exclaimed "how picturesque" or "interesting, isn't it?" and
continued our way. Luck saved us.

A scissors-grinder at the gate of Saint-Paul-du-Var recommended the trout
and beds of the Villeneuve-Loubet hotel. Just as the moon was coming up
one April evening, we got off the Vence-Cagnes tram at the junction of
the Grasse tramway, and walked to the revelation of what the castle
really was. We decided to eat something in a hurry, and go around the
town that very evening.

When, helped by the sign, we reached the Hotel Beau-Site, the proprietor
came forward with his best shuffle and bow. Trout? Of course there were
trout, plenty of them. Alas, in these days when business was very, very
bad, when people had no money to travel, and visitors accordingly were
scarce, there were too many trout. But that wa