ble trouble? It seems as if there must be a "moral in it,"
as Alice's Duchess would have said.

Tours appeared _that_ evening (I have a motive for the emphasis) to
consist of one long, straight street; and turning to the left at the
end, we pulled up at the door of a hotel. Just an ordinary-looking hotel
it was on the outside, and I little thought what my impressions of it
would be by-and-by.

I was tired, not so much physically from what we had done, but with the
feeling that my capacity for admiring and enjoying things had been
filled up and brimmed over, so that a drop more in would actually hurt.
Do you know that sensation? It was just the mood to appreciate warmth
and cosiness. We got both. Aunt Mary and I had two bedrooms opening off
a sitting-room; dear, old-fashioned rooms, and, above all, _French_
old-fashioned, which to me is fascinating. We made ourselves as pretty
as Nature ordained us severally to be, and went downstairs. The
dining-room was our first big surprise. It was almost worthy of one of
the chateaux, with its dignified tapestried and wainscotted walls, and
its big, branching candelabra. I'm sure if we'd been dining at a chateau
we shouldn't have got a better dinner. I don't think anything ever
tasted so good to me in my life, and I couldn't help wondering how poor,
tired Brown was faring while we lazy ones feasted in state in the _salle
a manger_. I thought of you, too, for you would have loved the things to
eat. They were rich and Southern, and tasted in one's mouth just the way
the word "Provence" sounds in one's ear. Aunt Mary had read in one of
her ubiquitous guide-books that Touraine as well as Provence is famous
for its "succulent cooking," and for once a guide-book seems to be
right. They had all sorts of tricky, rich little dishes for
dinner--_rillettes_ and other things which would have made your mouth
water (though if it did, and I were by, I'd shut my eyes), and the head
waiter told me when I asked, that they were specialties of Tours and of
the hotel. I think _he_ must be a specialty of Tours and the hotel too.
He has the softest, most engaging, yet dignified manner; and the way he
has of setting down a dish before you seems to season it and give you a
double appetite. There's another man in the hotel, too, who adds to the
"aroma"; he's like a "bush to wine," or something I've heard you say. By
day he's _valet de chambre_, in a scarlet waistcoat no brighter than his
cheeks and eyes; at