my mind. We all
who live in France know the type well.

The whole nation is frugal. During the Franco-German War, my husband,
who had spent all the dreary months of the invasion at his chateau in
the country, was elected a member of the Assemblee Nationale, which met
at Bordeaux. They were entirely cut off from Paris, surrounded by
Prussian troops on all sides, and he couldn't get any money. Whatever he
had had at the beginning of the war had been spent--sending off recruits
for one of the great army corps near his place. It was impossible to
communicate with his banker or any friends in Paris, and yet he couldn't
start without funds. He applied to the notary of La Ferte-Milon, the
little town nearest the chateau. He asked how much he wanted. W. said
about 10,000 francs. The notary said, "Give me two days and I will get
it for you." He appeared three days afterward, bringing the 10,000
francs--a great deal of it in large silver five-franc pieces, very
difficult to carry. He had collected the whole sum from small farmers
and peasants in the neighbourhood--the five-franc pieces coming always
from the peasants, sometimes fifty sewed up in a mattress or in the
woman's thick, wadded Sunday skirt. He said he could get as much more if
W. wanted it. It seems impossible for the peasant to part with his money
or invest it. He must keep it well hidden, but in his possession.

... We had a pretty drive this afternoon to one of Florian's farms, down
a little green lane, some distance from the high-road and so hidden by
the big trees that we saw nothing until we got close to the gate. It was
late--all the cows coming home, the great Norman horses drinking at the
trough, two girls with bare legs and high caps calling all the fowl to
supper, and the farmer's wife, with a baby in her arms and another
child, almost a baby, pulling at her skirts, seated on a stone bench
underneath a big apple-tree, its branches heavy with fruit. She was
superintending the work of the farm-yard and seeing that the two girls
didn't waste a minute of their time, nor a grain of the seed with which
they were feeding the chickens. A little clear, sparkling stream was
meandering through the meadows, tall poplars on each side, and quite
at the end of the stretch of green fields there was the low blue line of
the sea. The farmhouse is a large, old-fashioned building with one or
two good rooms. It had evidently been a small manor house. One of the
rooms is charmin