In the Grotto, Tavèn looses the "swarms of ill," and they rush forth and hold a sort of Carnival, with wizards from Varigoule, in the Luberon range, and ghouls from Fanfarigoule on the Crau.
And in the midst of this appalling Desert of Stones, where the wild thyme makes here and there a fragrant carpet, this mad company dances the farandole.
It was with a pleasant human sense of comfort and cheer that we found ourselves once more driving through the streets of St. Remy. Quieter now than ever these little streets in the dusk, so that we could almost hear the falling of the great yellow leaves of the plane-trees, softly, occasionally, in the avenues. Quite from the other end of the tiny town we could catch the rumble of the homing omnibus, bringing its last freight of passengers from the station, or more likely returning empty, to earn its rest in the outhouse behind the hotel—happy, simple omnibus, without a care in the world!
We were thankful to wash off the dust of the day, and with it half our fatigue, and to hasten down to the salle à manger, pleasantly tired with the long hours in the open air, the long stream of strong impressions. And how hungry we were! Impressions seem to need a large amount of sustenance.
I think the waiter must be accustomed to famished visitors returning from Les Baux, for he simply flew as we appeared, dashed the menu down on the table, murmuring, "Tout de suite, Mesdames," and was scurrying back the next minute with two small tureens of smoking soup. Never did soup taste so good or so comforting!
Life indeed has its contrasts! We thought of Les Baux among the abysses of the Alpilles under the shroud of night, with a light or two from the Chevelure d'Or and the few neighbouring houses twinkling mysteriously on the height, and perhaps that strange music stealing into the darkness of the valley—while out on the Crau—
"Si Mesdames désirent du vin blanc ou du vin rouge?"
Thus sharply roused, we make a random choice, (Barbara accused me of having replied "du Crau, s'il vous plait,") and the waiter placed on the table a bottle of good Provençal wine which tasted like distilled sunshine, which indeed it was, just tempered with a breeze from Mont Ventoux.
After the meal we were conducted once more to the parlour, where the same little party was collected, all interested to hear what we thought of Les Baux.
We expressed ourselves with warmth.