Remy and Les
Baux.
Mr. Dane had mapped out the programme of places to see, using Avignon as
a centre, and there were so many notabilities at the Hotel de l'Europe
following the same itinerary, with insignificant variations, that Lady
Turnour was quite contented with the arrangements made for her.
Morning was for St. Remy; afternoon was for Les Baux, "because the thing
is to see the sunset there," I heard her telling an extremely
rich-looking American lady, laying down the law as if she had planned
the whole trip herself, with a learned reason for each detail.
The way to St. Remy was along a small but pretty country road, which had
a misleading air, as if it didn't want you to think it was taking you to
a place of any importance. And yet we were in the heart of Mistral-land;
not Mistral the east wind, but Mistral the poet of Provence, great
enough to be worthy of the land he loves, great enough to carry on the
glory of it to future generations. At any moment we might meet a
Fellore. I looked with interest at each man we saw, and some looked back
at me with flattering curiosity; for a woman's eyes are almost as
mysterious behind a three-cornered talc window as behind a yashmak, or
zenana gratings.
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