ppled with
rheumatism, and unable any longer to make a brave show in tournaments
under fair ladies' eyes, determined to retire from the world, and to
leave his horse--faithful companion of many jousts--in a certain green
meadow traversed by a babbling brook, where he could end his days in
peace. What was his surprise, some months later, to find his horse
quietly standing again in his old stable, his legs firm and straight,
his skin glossy, quite renovated. The master took himself off to the
meadow, investigated the quality of the water, bathed himself, and began
life anew with straightened limbs and quickened pulses. The waters
certainly do wonders. We see every day people who had arrived on
crutches or walking with canes quite discarding them after a course of
baths.

[Illustration: L'Etablissement, Bagnoles de l'Orme.]

The hotel is full, mostly French, but there are of course some
exceptions. We have a tall and stately royal princess with two daughters
and a niece. The girls are charming--simple, pretty, and evidently much
pleased to be away for a little while from court life and etiquette.
They make their cure quite regularly, like any one else, walking and
sitting in the Allee Dante. The people don't stare at them too much.
There are one or two well-known men--deputies, membres de
l'Institut--but, of course, women are in the majority. There is a
band--not very good, as the performers, some of them good enough alone,
had never played together until they came here. However, it isn't of
much consequence, as no one listens. I make friends with them, as usual;
something always draws me to artists. The boy at the piano looks so
thin--really as if he did not get enough to eat. He plays very well,
told me he was a premier prix of the Conservatoire de Madrid. When one
thinks of the hours of work and fatigue that means, it is rather
pathetic to see him, contented to earn a few francs a night, pounding
away at a piano and generally ending with a "cake walk," danced by some
enterprising young people with all sorts of remarkable steps and
gestures, which would certainly astonish the original negro performers
on a plantation.

The view from the terrace at night is pretty--quantities of lights
twinkling about among the trees, and beyond, always on each side and in
front, the thick green walls of the forest quite shutting in the quiet
little place. We are usually the last outside. It grows cooler as the
evening gets on, and I