I shall prop my courage with the
reflection that, after all, he _is_ a _chauffeur_, and perhaps has, in
his heart, been wondering why I haven't given him anything before.

Yesterday I saw palm trees, growing in the _place_, and kissed my hand
to them, because they told me that we were on the threshold of the
South. Another thing in Tours which suggests the South, I think, is the
_patisserie_. Aunt Mary and I have discovered a confectioner's to
conjure with; but Tours seems to have discovered him long ago, for all
the "beauty and fashion" of the town go there for coffee and cakes in
the afternoon. We do likewise--when we have time; and yesterday Aunt
Mary ate twelve little cakes, each one different from the other. You
see, they are so good, and she said, as a conscientious tourist, she
thought she ought to try every kind in the shop, so as to know which was
nicest. But she felt odd afterwards, and refused one or two of the best
courses at dinner.

The way that we have used our time at Tours is very much to our credit,
I think--or rather to the Lightning Conductor's. In the mornings Brown
has taken us on excursions outside the town, and in the afternoons,
before dark, we have "done" the town itself, as Aunt Mary would say,
though I hate the expression myself. But one whole day out of our three
we spent in running with the car to Langeais and Azay-le-Rideau.

That new car is a treasure, and Brown drives as if there were a sort of
_sympathy_ between him and it. We go at a thrilling pace sometimes, but
that is only when we have a long, straight road, empty as far as the eye
can see. He is very considerate to "horse drivers," as he calls them,
and he says "for the sake of the sport" everyone driving an automobile
should be careful of the rights of other persons on the road. He slows
down at once, or even stops the car altogether, if we meet a restive
horse. Once he got out and pacified a silly beast that was nervous,
leading it past the car, and when it was quite quiet the old peasant who
was driving exclaimed that if all automobilists were like us there would
never be complaints. We managed to make up for lost time, though; and
when Brown "lets her out," as he calls it, until we are going as fast as
a quick train, I can tell you it is something worth living for. When
the country is very beautiful we drive slowly, and save our "spurts"
for the uninteresting parts.

I know you've read Balzac's _Duchesse de Langeais_, in En