The engineer proved himself a thorough-paced sceptic of the modern French sort. His opinion of the country-folk was low—hypocrites, fools, money-grubbers all! Holding up a five-franc piece, he averred that for this they would sell mother, daughter, sister; and then similarly elevating a bundle of paper-money, he exclaimed: "Voilà, le Grand Dieu."
"This is a Catholic countryside?" I said.
"Yes," he replied, "but that makes no difference."
"There is one Protestant in Bleymard," put in Barbenoire,—"myself!"
"And he isn't up to much," added the cynic.
"A cluster of black roofs, the village of Cocurès sitting among vineyards."—R. L. S.
