A landlord standing in his door, on the lookout for customers,
invited us to enter in a manner so polite and pressing we could not choose
but do so. This is a universal custom with the country innkeepers. In a
little village which we passed toward evening there was a tavern with the
sign "The Mother of Soldiers." A portly woman whose face beamed with
kindness and cheerfulness stood in the door and invited us to stop there
for the night. "No, mother," I answered; "we must go much farther to-day."
"Go, then," said she, "with good luck, my children! A pleasant journey!"
On entering the inn at Senas two or three bronzed soldiers were sitting by
the table. My French vocabulary happening to give out in the middle of a
consultation about eggs and onion-soup, one of them came to my assistance
and addrest me in German. He was from Fulda, in Hesse-Cassel, and had
served fifteen years in Africa....
Leaving next morning at daybreak, we walked on before breakfast to Orgon,
a little village in a corner of the cliffs which border the Durance, and
crossed the muddy river by a suspension bridge a short distance below, to
Cavaillon, where the country-people were holding a great market.
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