"Oui c'est belle," observed Madame, giving a hitch to her work to bring it more under her fingers, "Voilà une petite excursion ex-cess-ive-ment in-ter-ess-ante."
A desire to laugh became insistent, not at Madame, but at the whole situation. But that was out of the question. Had I been allowed to cry it would have done almost as well, but that would have created still more consternation, so I played up to Madame and said—
"En effet, c'est une excursion la plus charmante que nous avons fait en Provence," and happily no one seemed to see how ridiculous the observation was.
We returned to the subject of St. Remy, of which Madame knew a good deal—learnt, as she told us, from some esteemed and instructive American clients.
Of Nostradamus and the troubadours and the Counts of Provence her information was not exhaustive; though she had some anecdotes and a personal feeling about the Good King René who has made himself loved and remembered by his countrymen for four centuries by his goodness and the quality that we well call charm—recognising in it an element of natural sorcery.
St. Remy must have been a bright little city in the days of the Counts; the scene of many gay and knightly doings.
And there were doings neither gay nor knightly in one grim old house covered with demoniac gargoyles where Nostradamus worked through the clear Provençal nights.
Doubtless it was in this narrow ancient street in that gloomy, haunted house that Tavèn the witch came to learn the mysteries of the art of magic. Perhaps it was here that the philosopher on his side learnt many things from his pupil, as wise teachers are apt to do.
One can but wonder how far the legend was founded on fact and what actual part the Enchantress of the Alpilles played in the life of the great astrologer.
Barbara, who had a good healthy appetite for romance, hoped it was a love affair—which was startling indeed!