Ever since developing a keen interest in the fortunes of the great Burgundian monasteries, we had decided to take the first opportunity of seeing the Valley of the Ouche, and Labussière, the adopted daughter of Citeaux.
It was a public holiday; and the train from Dijon was packed with excursionists. I found myself the only male in a compartment crammed with eight old ladies, mostly stout, and all in holiday spirits. We fell into conversation. They all expressed kindly interest in the task that had brought me to Dijon. I was catechized.
"Has Monsieur seen the prisons of Dijon?"
"No, Madame; je n'aime pas beaucoup ces endroits là." Little tinkling laughs ran all round the carriage.
"But I only just missed seeing them yesterday—because I had left behind me my permis de circulation. You have so many regulations in France."
"Talking of regulations, Monsieur," said the stoutest and shrewdest of the old ladies, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, "Permit me to call to your attention to the fact that you are in a "Dames seules!"
"Mille pardons, Mesdames; but permit me to observe that I have chosen my company well."
This time the compartment rang with laughter; and eight bonnetted heads bobbed in recognition of the courtoisie.
"And if we let him stay, Monsieur will promise to be bien sage?"