rvant that came to
light my fire to get coffee for three, and to have my horses put in.

The two pretty girls came to breakfast with me, and I thanked them for
having made me stay the night. I asked for the bill, and the eldest said
it was in round figures a Louis apiece. I shewed no sign of anger at this
outrageous fleecing, but gave them three Louis with the best grace
imaginable and went on my way. When I reached Angouleme, where I expected
to find Noel, the King of Prussia's cook, I only found his father, whose
talents in the matter of pates was something prodigious. His eloquence
was as fervent as his ovens. He said he would send his pates all over
Europe to any address I liked to give him.

"What! To Venice, London, Warsaw, St. Petersburg?"

"To Constantinople, if you like. You need only give me your address, and
you need not pay me till you get the pates."

I sent his pates to my friends in Venice, Warsaw, and Turin, and
everybody thanked me for the delicious dish.

Noel had made quite a fortune. He assured me he had sent large
consignments to America, and with the exception of some losses by
shipwreck all the pates had arrived in excellent condition. They were
chiefly made of turkeys, partridges, and hare, seasoned with truffles,
but he also made pates de foie gras of larks and of thrushes, according
to the season.

In two days I arrived at Bordeaux, a beautiful town coming only second to
Paris, with respect to Lyons be it said. I spent a week there, eating and
drinking of the best, for the living there is the choicest in the world.

I transferred my bill of exchange for eight thousand francs to a Madrid
house, and crossed the Landes, passing by Mont de Marsan, Bayonne, and
St. Jean de Luz, where I sold my post-chaise. From St. Jean de Luz I went
to Pampeluna by way of the Pyrenees, which I crossed on mule-back, my
baggage being carried by another mule. The mountains struck me as higher
than the Alps. In this I may possibly be wrong, but I am certain that the
Pyrenees are the most picturesque, fertile, and agreeable of the two.

At Pampeluna a man named Andrea Capello took charge of me and my luggage,
and we set out for Madrid. For the first twenty leagues the travelling
was easy enough, and the roads as good as any in France. These roads did
honour to the memory of M. de Gages, who had administered Navarre after
the Italian war, and had, as I was assured, made the road at his own
expense. Twenty years e