GEO. R. SIMS.
London,
September 1, 1895.
CONTENTS
DAGONET ABROAD
CHAPTER I.
IN BORDEAUX.
I am in Bordeaux in February, and in a hotel; which hotel I am not quite sure. Over the top of the front door it is called ‘Hôtel de la Paix,’ on the left side of the door it is called ‘Hôtel des Princes,’ on the right side of the door it is called ‘Hôtel de Paris.’ It is three single hotels rolled into one; but its variety of nomenclature is slightly confusing. It is nice to be in so many hotels all at once, but I hope they won’t all send me in a separate bill. The key to the enigma is this: Many hotels in Bordeaux have failed, or given up business. The landlord of my hotel has bought the goodwill of each, and stuck its title up over his own front door.
It is early in the morning and bitterly cold when I arrive, but as the day advances it gets aired. The sun comes out in the heavens and slowly gathers strength. By noon the streets are bathed in a warm glow. Bordeaux has changed from the frozen North to the sunny South. It is no longer Siberian; it is Indian. The pavements that were frozen with the cold in the early morning are now baking with the heat. I fling off my ulster, and I light a cigarette and stroll forth, airily clad, to bask and revel in the golden sunlight.
At the corner of the street I come upon a great crowd dressed in black. They are waiting for a funeral. Presently a modest little open hearse draws up. It is drawn by two horses covered from head to tail in rusty black clothing. Two men in faded bottle-green coats jump off, and go into a house. Presently they return with a poor, cheap, common coffin. They place it on the hearse, and throw a faded, rusty-looking pall over it. Then one of the men returns to the house, and comes back with a big wreath of yellow immortelles. On this is executed in black beads the legend, ‘To Raoul Laval; from his friends of the Bureau.’