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 châteaux, with its dignified tapestried and wainscotted walls, and its big, branching candelabra. I'm sure if we'd been dining at a château 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 à 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 dinner he's a waiter in correct "dress" clothes, and then he goes back to valeting again till midnight. He would put me in a good temper if I had started out to murder someone, and when he brought us the wine list, waiting with a cherry-cheeked smile to see what we would choose, nothing seemed worthy of him except champagne; but champagne looked so dissipated for two lone females. However, I had decided to have some, to drink the health of the new car, and perhaps-a little-to shock Aunt Mary, when the diamond-eyed one respectfully inquired, in nice Southern French, how we would like to try a "little wine of the country, sparkling Vouvray; quite a ladies' wine." So we compromised with Vouvray. It was too ridiculously cheap, but it had a delicious flavour, and Aunt Mary and I, being merely females, agreed that it was more delicate than any champagne we had ever tasted. We drank your health and the car's, and then I had a sudden inspiration. "To the 'Lightning Conductor'!" said I, raising my glass.
"What lightning conductor? And what do you mean?" inquired Aunt Mary.
"The one and only Lightning Conductor-Brown," I explained. "I have just thought of that as a good name for him, now that he has a chance to spin us across the world at such a pace with a new car."
"I do hope, my dear Molly," severely remarked Aunt Mary, setting down her glass with an indignant little thud, "you will not call that young man any such thing to his face. He has already been allowed far too many liberties, and though I must say he has not to any great extent taken undue advantage of them so far, he may break out at any moment."
I'm sorry to tell you, Dad, that I said "Pooh!" and asked her if she thought Brown were an active volcano. Anyway, whether I call him so "to his face" or not, the "Lightning Conductor" he is, and will remain for me, though perhaps he wouldn't be flattered at being "launched and christened" with mere Vouvray.
I didn't expect to like Tours half as much as I do. But we have been here for three days, and though I thought at first there was only one long street, we've found something interesting to see every hour of daylight-so I write in the evenings in our cosy sitting-room. Or if I don't write, I read Balzac. I never appreciated him as I do here, on his "native heath." I have begged Brown to name his master's car "Balzac," because it, too, is a "violent and complicated genius." I've gazed at the house where Balzac was born; I've photographed the Balzac medallion; I've stuffed my trunks with illustrated editions of Balzac's books; and I've gone to see everything I could find, which he ever spoke about. His Curé de Tours is the most harrowing story I ever read; and the strange little house in the shadow of the cathedral, with one of the great buttresses planting its enormous foot in the wee garden, fascinates me. There lived the horrible Mademoiselle Gamard, and there, with her, lodged the wicked Curé, and the poor, good little Curé, over whose childlike, gentle stupidity and agony I half cried my eyes out last night. But Balzac's French discourages me. He must have had a wonderful vocabulary. I am always finding words on every page which I never saw before.
I don't like cathedrals much as a rule, unless there's something really extraordinary about them; but I love the big, grey, Gothic cathedral of Tours. It seems a different grey from any other, not cold and forbidding, but warm and very soft, as if it were made of sealskin. I suppose that is partly the effect of the beautiful carvings of the tall, tall front. I feel as if I should like to smooth and caress it with my hand. And it is beautiful inside. Somehow it is so individual that it gives you a welcome, as if it meant to be your friend.
The streets of old Tours are so intricate that Aunt Mary and I would never have known where to go, but Brown, who has been here before, has guided us everywhere. He took us to see the house of Tristan the Hermit, and an adorable little convent, which is called the Petit St. Martin, with lovely Renaissance carving, and actually a tilleul. He showed us the oldest house in Tours, the quaintest building you could imagine, standing on a corner, with lots of other very old houses on the same street. And the Charlemagne Tower-I'm not sure, but I liked that the best of all-and a marvellous fourteenth-century house, a perfect lacework of carving, which has been restored, and is called the Maison Gouin, after the rich man who lives in it. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I have bought your favourite Quentin Durward, and am sandwiching him with Balzac. Reading him over again in this country was Brown's idea for me, and I'm obliged to him for the "tip." Speaking of tips reminds me I really ought to give him one-a very large one, I'm sure. And yet it will be awkward offering it, I'm afraid. I know I shall stammer and be an idiot generally; but 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.