"Right-o! What a devilish decent chap you are, Warner!"
"Oh, no; I'm a gambler by disposition. This business amuses me!"
"Are you stopping at the Boule d'Argent, too?" asked Halkett after a moment.
"I lunched there and left my stack of toiles and my sack of colors there. Also, I have a dogcart and a horse in the stables."
They turned away together, side by side, crossed the boulevard, traversed the deserted square in front of the beautiful old church of Sainte Cassilda, and entered the stony rue d'Auros, which led directly into the market square.
The ancient town of Ausone certainly seemed to be very much en fête, and the rue d'Auros—the main business thoroughfare—was crowded with townspeople, country folk, and soldiers on leave, clustering not only all over the sidewalks, but in the middle of the streets and squares, filling the terraces of the cafés and the courts of the two hotels, the Boule d'Argent and the Hôtel des Voyageurs.
Sunlight filtered through the double rank of chestnut trees in full leaf; the shade was even denser and cooler by the stone bridge where, between stone walls, the little stony river flowed, crystal clear. Here women and young girls, in holiday attire, sat on the benches, knitting or chatting with their friends; children played along the stone embankment, where beds of brilliant flowers bloomed; the red trousers of soldiers and the glittering brass helmets of firemen added a gayety to the color and movement.
"They're a jolly people, these French," remarked Halkett.
"They're very agreeable to live among."
"You've lived in France for some time?"