re
I don't object. The only consequence to me is that we never shall meet
again, and I shall not weep over that.

BOURGES, August 4th.

If you have ever been in Bourges, you may have seen the little Rue
Sous-les-Ceps, the Cours du Bat d'Argent and de la Fleur-de-lys, the
Rues de la Merede-Dieu, des Verts-Galants, Mausecret, du Moulin-le-Roi,
the Quai Messire-Jacques, and other streets whose ancient names,
preserved by a praiseworthy sentiment or instinctive conservatism,
betoken an ancient city still inhabited by old-fashioned people, by
which I mean people attached to the soil, strongly marked with the stamp
of the provincial in manners as in language; people who understand all
that a name is to a street--its honor, its spouse if you will, from
which it must not be divorced.

My Uncle Mouillard, most devoted and faithful citizen of Bourges,
naturally lives in one of these old streets, the Rue du Four, within the
shadow of the cathedral, beneath the swing of its chimes.

Within fifteen minutes after my arrival at Bourges I was pulling the
deer's foot which hangs, depilated with long use, beside his door. It
was five o'clock, and I knew for certain that he would not be at home.
When the courts rise, one of the clerks carries back his papers to
the office, while he moves slowly off, his coat-tails flapping in the
breeze, either to visit a few friends and clients, respectable dames who
were his partners in the dance in the year 1840, or more often to take
a "constitutional" along the banks of the Berry Canal, where, in the
poplar shade, files of little gray donkeys are towing string after
string of big barges.

So I was sure not to meet him.

Madeleine opened the door to me, and started as if shot.

"Monsieur Fabien!"

"Myself, Madeleine. My uncle is not at home?"

"No, Monsieur. Do you really mean to come in, Monsieur?"

"Why not?"

"The master's so changed since his visit to Paris, Monsieur Fabien!"

Madeleine stood still, with one hand holding up her apron, the other
hanging, and gazed at me with reproachful anxiety.

"I must come in, Madeleine. I have a secret to tell you."

She made no answer, but turned and walked before me into the house.

It was not thus that I used to be welcomed in days gone by! Then
Madeleine used to meet me at the station. She used to kiss me, and tell
me how well I looked, promising the while a myriad sweet dishes which
she had invented for me. Hardly did