n the outside world, nor in anything that goes on in other countries,
but is too polite to show that when she talks to me, for instance, who
have knocked about so much. She doesn't understand the modern life, so
sans gene and agitated, and it is funny to hear her say when talking of
people she doesn't quite approve of, "Ils ne sont pas de notre monde."

[Illustration: Entrance to hotel of the Comte de Florian.]

Then comes the young countess, very energetic and smiling, with her
short skirt and a bag on her arm, going to market. She sees me at the
window and stops to know if I am going out. Will I join her at the
market? All the ladies of Valognes do their own marketing and some of
the well-known fishwomen and farmers' wives who come in from the
country with poultry would be quite hurt if Madame la Comtesse didn't
come herself to give her orders and have a little talk. This morning I
have been to market with Countess Florian. The women looked so nice
and clean in their short, black, heavily plaited skirts, high white
caps, and handkerchiefs pinned over their bodices. The little stalls
went all down the narrow main street and spread out on the big square
before the church. The church is large, with a square tower and fine
dome--nothing very interesting as to architecture. Some of the stalls
were very tempting and the smiling, red-cheeked old women, sitting up
behind their wares, were so civil and anxious to sell us something.
The fish-market was most inviting--quantities of flat white turbots,
shining silver mackerel, and fresh crevettes piled high on a marble
slab with water running over them. Four or five short-skirted,
bare-legged fisher girls were standing at the door with baskets of
fish on their heads. Florian joined us there and seemed on the best of
terms with these young women. He made all kinds of jokes with them, to
which they responded with giggles and a funny little half-courtesy,
half-nod. Both Florians spoke so nicely to all the market people as we
passed from stall to stall. The poultry looked very good--such fat
ducks and chickens. It was funny to see the bourgeoises of Valognes
all armed with a large basket doing their marketing; they looked at
the chickens, poked them, lifted them so as to be sure of their
weight, and evidently knew to a centime what they had to pay. I fancy
the Norman menagere is a pretty sharp customer and knows exactly what
she must pay for everything. The vegetable stalls were very