rather nice to be fussed over by a brother, and forced into a
coat of his, whether I liked or not. "The quality" must have seen me in
it, through the glass, but Lady Turnour ignored the sight. Altogether,
everything was agreeable, and the thunder-storm of last night, in
clearing, had turned us into quite a happy family party.

It rained all day, and I sat in my room before a blazing fire of olive
wood which a dear old waiter, exactly like a confidential servant of a
pope, bestowed upon me out of sheer Provencal good nature. As he's been
in the hotel for thirty years, he is a privileged person, and can do
what he likes.

Lady Turnour gave me a pile of stockings to look over, lest Satan should
find some more ornamental use for my idle hands; so I asked Mr. Dane for
his socks too; and pretended that I should consider it a slight upon my
skill if he refused.

That was our last night at Avignon, and early in the morning I packed
for Arles, where we would sleep. But on the way we stopped at Tarascon,
so splendid with its memories of Du Guesclin, and the towers of King
Rene's great chateau reflected in a water-mirror, that no Tartarin could
be blamed if he were born with a boasting spirit. And there are other
things in Tarascon for its Tartarins to be proud of, besides the noble
old castle where King Rene used to spend his springs and summers when he
was tired of living in state at Aix. There is the church of Saint
Martha, and the beautiful Hotel de Ville, and--almost best of all for
its quaintness, though far from beautiful--the great Tarasque lurking in
a dark and secret lair.

We couldn't go into the chateau, but perhaps it was better to see it
only from the outside, and remember it always in a crystal picture,
framed with the turquoise of the sky. Besides, not going in gave us more
time for Beaucaire, just across the river--Beaucaire of the Fair;
Beaucaire of sweet Nicolete and her faithful lover Aucassin.

I know a song about Nicolete of the white feet and hair of yellow gold,
and I sang it below my breath, sitting beside my brother Jack, as we
crossed the bridge. Although I sang so softly, he heard, and turned to
me for an instant. "You _can_ sing!" he said.

"You don't like singing," I suggested.

"Only better than most things--that's all."

"Yet you didn't want me to sing the other night."

"That was because your hair was down. I couldn't stand both together."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you? Al