Pont Aven
These days have gone, and at Pont Aven, as elsewhere throughout the world, the prices of all things are apparently rising. Really, Pont Aven and its environs are delightful; its little river is busy and chattering with many mill-wheels, and the Lovers’ Wood—as many know—is well named.
Because of its many riverside mill-wheels, Pont Aven has been named Millers’ Town by the natives, and also “The famous town with fourteen mills and fifteen houses.”
Unquestionably, the fame of Pont Aven has been made, or, at least, furthered, by Mlle. Julia, the most capable landlady of the Travellers’ Hotel. The modest little country-house which formed the original hotel has now a more magnificent neighbour, built up with a steel frame,—like a Chicago skyscraper,—and resplendent with modern furniture, with chairs and sofas of the saddle-bag variety, electric lights, electric bells which actually do ring, ice-water, afternoon tea, Scotch whiskey, and all the super-refinements of a twentieth-century civilization.
It is all very comfortable,—too comfortable the artists will tell you,—but the eagle eye and strong will of Mlle. Julia still hover over all, and nothing of deterioration is to be noted in the fare, which is excellent, and served in the charmingly quaint and beautifully decorated dining-hall of the little old inn, the precursor of the more splendid addition.
