resentative in the Legion of
Honor (rosette, not ribbon, if you please), and two _chasseurs alpins_,
home from the maneuvers on sick leave, ordered their coffee or liqueur at
other tables, but were glad to join us when we said the word. Soon we
had a dozen around us. The history of the war--and past and future
wars--and of Villeneuve-Loubet was set forth in detail.

Had it not been for the moon, we should certainly have gone from the
table to our rooms. But the full moon on the Riviera makes a more
fascinating fairyland than one can find in dreams. We did not hesitate,
when the last of our friends left, to follow them out-of-doors.
Villeneuve-Loubet might prove to be a modest town tomorrow, old, of
course, and interesting: but we were going to see it tonight under the
spell of the moon. We were going to wander where we willed, with all the
town to ourselves. We were going to live for an hour in the Middle Ages.
For if there was anything modern in Villeneuve-Loubet, the moonlight
would hide it or gloss it over; if there was anything ancient, the
moonlight would enable us to see it as we wanted to see it. I pity the
limited souls who do not believe in moonshine, and use the word
contemptuously. One is illogical who contends that moonshine gives a
false idea of things; for he is testing the moonshine impression by
sunshine. It would be as illogical to say that sunshine gives a false
idea of things on the ground that moonshine is the standard. If sunshine
is reality, so is moonshine. The difference is that we are more
accustomed to see things by sunlight than by moonlight. Our test of
reality is familiarity, and of truth repetition.

Villeneuve-Loubet is built against a cliff. The houses rise on tiers of
stone terraces. They are made of stone quarried on the spot. Red tiles,
the conspicuous feature of Mediterranean cities, are lacking in
Villeneuve-Loubet. The roofs are slabs of stone. The streets are the
surface of the cliff. We climbed toward the castle through a ghost-city.
The moon enhanced the gray-whiteness that was the common color of ground,
walls and roofs. The shadows, sharp and black, were needed to set forth
the lines of the buildings.

The picture called for a witch. The silence was broken by the tapping of
a cane. Around the corner the witch hobbled into the scene, testing each
step before her. She was dressed in black, of course, and bent over with
just the curve of the back the Artist