much? And certainly two sous earned above ground buy
hotter soup than one can gain in many a search for twenty francs below."

He whipped up for a suitable and striking entry into town, turned into a
lane, and with much show of difficulty in reining up, stood before the
"hotel."

The traveller, having descended, entered a room that might have been the
subject of a quaint Dutch canvas. He saw a low ceiling, smoky walls,
long rows of benches, a sanded floor, and pine-board tables that
stretched back to an open door; and through the open door, the pot
swinging above the embers of the kitchen fire. The mistress of the inn,
a strong white-haired woman of seventy, came hurrying in to greet her
guest. "It was late," she said, and quickly put a basin full of water, a
new piece of soap, and a fresh towel on a chair near the kitchen door;
and as the traveller prepared himself for dinner he heard the crackling
of fresh boughs upon the fire and the cheerful singing of the pot.
Little lamps were lighted, and when he came to his table's end, he found
good country wine and a steaming cabbage-soup. Others came in to dine
and smoke and talk, and later from his bed-room window, he saw their
ghostly figures moving up and down the unlighted streets and heard them
say good-night. The inn-door was noisily and safely barred, and when the
retreating footsteps and the voices had died away, the quiet of the dark
remained unbroken until a watchman, with flickering lantern, passed, and
cried aloud "All's well."

[Illustration: "THE OPEN SQUARE."--SENEZ.]

Next morning the sun shone brightly on Senez, and the traveller hurried
to the open square. A horse, carrying a farmer's boy, meandered slowly
by, a chicken picked here and there, and water trickled slowly from the
tiny faucet of the village fountain.

[Illustration: "THE PALACE OF ITS PRELATES."--SENEZ.]

In this quiet spot, near the lonely desolation of the hills, is the
Cathedral. The Palace of its prelates, which is opposite, is now a
farm-house where hay-ricks stand in the front yard, and windows have
been walled up because Provencal winds are cold and glass is dear.

[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL.--SENEZ.]

Looking at this residence, one would think that the last Bishops of
Senez were insignificant priests, steeped in country wine and country
stagnancy. But such a supposition is very far from true. For we know
that in the XVIII century, Jean Soannen, Bishop of the city, was called