n, when all the world, from millionaire to peasant,
begins to think of the midday meal. Even motors were at rest,
comfortably absorbing petrol and leaving the roads to sleep in peace.
Far off among the trees Vanno caught a glimpse of two men picnicking,
cabdrivers eating their bread and meat and drinking the rough red wine
of the country, while their little _voitures_ stood a few yards away,
the horses well in shade, their faces buried in nose-bags, and a
miniature wolf-like dog asleep on the back of one. As Vanno and the
priest drew nearer both men got up respectfully, wiping their smiling
mouths. They seemed not at all astonished to see the figures in scarlet
and white, with the swinging censer. And indeed it was a common enough
sight in these woods, and elsewhere, the brilliant little procession for
the blessing of houses, or for the last sacrament. The cure knew both
men, for his parish extended from the old village of Roquebrune down to
the outskirts of Mentone on one side and to St. Roman on the other. He
asked one after a new wife, and of the other inquired for the health of
his tiny dog, Pomponette. Nothing would do but the microscopic animal
must be fetched from her ample bed on the horse's back, and displayed
proudly. Her master, a very large dark man, stuck the dog into the
breast of his coat, whence her miniature head protruded like a peculiar
orchid.

"_C'est un bon garcon_," remarked the cure, when the bowings and
politenesses were over, and they had got away. "A strange world this! He
is the last of one of the greatest and oldest families of Southern
France. For generations they have been in ruin, reduced to the life of
peasants. Jacques cares not at all, and hardly remembers that he has in
his veins blood nobler than some kings can boast. What would you? It is
as well for him. We are not snobs, we southerners, Principino. And he is
quite happy, with his little cab, his little white horse, and his little
dog. He will marry a peasant--I think I know who, for she has
embroidered a blanket for Pomponette. At one time he was conductor on
the trams; but he was _triste_ because few of the passengers said good
morning or good evening to him--and he is a friendly fellow. So he gave
up his position on the trams. One would not find that in the north. They
have their faults, these people, but I love them."

The woods of Cap Martin seemed to be populated by the cure's friends. As
he and Vanno walked away from the pi