MOULINS.
MOULINS is a stupid town with a very poor hotel and an American bar. It is true there is a cathedral, and a castle also. But, for one reason or another—perhaps because ’tis so monstrous high there was no avoiding taking notice of it—we only looked at the clock-tower.
However, we made a show of interest in the large Place in front of the hotel, deciding to our own satisfaction that it was the market-place where Mr. Sterne stopped to take his last look and last farewell of Maria.——
“Adieu, poor luckless maiden! Imbibe the oil and wine which the compassion of a stranger, as he journeyeth on his way, now pours into thy wounds. The Being who has twice bruised thee can only bind them up for ever.”
“And so we have done with Maria,” said J——, shutting up the book in a business-like manner.
The only people we met in Moulins were at the table d’hôte.
One man told tales of gore terrible to hear in such peaceful surroundings. After his coming the dining-room smelt like a perfumery shop, so that we thought he must be in the perfumery line. But as he talked he launched us all upon a sea of blood. He in fancy fought now with men, now with beasts. He defied us to our faces. Give him a horse he couldn’t subdue, indeed! And with knit brows and clenched fist he struggled again for our benefit with a famous steed, the officers in his regiment called un vrai diable.——
“I will master it if I pay with my life. The blood flows from my ears, my eyes, my nose, my mouth! I faint. A man, who sees me fall, cries, ‘There lies a corpse!’ I am in bed for a week. But, Dame, now a child can ride that horse.”