e odors of the sea--from a mackerel
or a whiting; and a Cresane from a Duchess pear, may be compared to a
man who should mistake Balzac for Eugene Sue; a symphony of Beethoven
for a military march composed by the bandmaster of a regiment; and the
Apollo Belvidere for the statue of General de Blaumont.

"Who is General de Blaumont?"

"Oh, that's true, you do not know. It is easy to tell that you do not
belong to Gisors. I told you just now, my dear boy, that they called the
inhabitants of this town 'the proud people of Gisors,' and never was an
epithet better deserved. But let us finish breakfast first, and then I
will tell you about our town and take you to see it."

He stopped talking every now and then while he slowly drank a glass of
wine which he gazed at affectionately as he replaced the glass on the
table.

It was amusing to see him, with a napkin tied around his neck, his
cheeks flushed, his eyes eager, and his whiskers spreading round his
mouth as it kept working.

He made me eat until I was almost choking. Then, as I was about to
return to the railway station, he seized me by the arm and took me
through the streets. The town, of a pretty, provincial type, commanded
by its citadel, the most curious monument of military architecture of
the seventh century to be found in France, overlooks, in its turn, a
long, green valley, where the large Norman cows graze and ruminate in
the pastures.

The doctor quoted:

"'Gisors, a town of 4,000 inhabitants in the department of Eure,
mentioned in Caesar's Commentaries: Caesaris ostium, then Caesartium,
Caesortium, Gisortium, Gisors.' I shall not take you to visit the old
Roman encampment, the remains of which are still in existence."

I laughed and replied:

"My dear friend, it seems to me that you are affected with a special
malady that, as a doctor, you ought to study; it is called the spirit of
provincialism."

He stopped abruptly.

"The spirit of provincialism, my friend, is nothing but natural
patriotism," he said. "I love my house, my town and my province because
I discover in them the customs of my own village; but if I love my
country, if I become angry when a neighbor sets foot in it, it is
because I feel that my home is in danger, because the frontier that I do
not know is the high road to my province. For instance, I am a Norman, a
true Norman; well, in spite of my hatred of the German and my desire for
revenge, I do not detest them, I do not hate the