of cabins and tents,
striped red and white, and umbrellas on the beach, and all day long
whole families sit there. They all bathe, and a curious fashion at
Villers is that you put on your bathing dress in your own house--over
that a peignoir, generally of red and white striped cotton, and walk
quite calmly through the streets to the etablissement. Some of the
ladies and gentlemen of mature years are not to their advantage. When
they can, if they have houses with a terrace or garden, they take their
meals outside, and as soon as they have breakfasted, start again for the
beach. When it is low tide they go shrimp-fishing or walk about in the
shallow water looking for shells and sea-weed. When it is high tide, all
sit at the door of their tents sewing, reading, or talking--I mean, of
course, the petite bourgeoisie.

At other places on the coast, Deauville or Houlgate, the life is like
Newport or Dinard, or any other fashionable seaside place, with
automobiles, dinners, dressing, etc. They get all the sea air and
out-of-door life that they can crowd into one month. One lady said to me
one day, "I can't bathe, but I take a 'bain d'air' every day--I sit on
the rocks as far out in the water as I can--take off my hat and my shoes
and stockings."

There is a great clearing out always by the first of September and then
the place was enchanting--bright, beautiful September days, one could
still bathe, the sun was so strong; and the afternoons, with just a
little chill in the air, were delightful for walking and driving. There
was a pretty Norman farm--just over the plage--at the top of the falaise
where we went sometimes for tea. They gave us very good tea, milk, and
cider, and excellent bread and butter and cheese. We sat out of doors in
an apple orchard at little tables--all the beasts of the establishment
in the same field. The chickens and sheep surrounded us, were evidently
accustomed to being fed, but the horses, cows, and calves kept quite to
the other end. We saw the girls milking the cows which, of course,
interested the children immensely.

We made some charming excursions in the auto--went one Saturday to
Caen--such a pretty road through little smiling villages--every house
with a garden, or if too close together to allow that, there were pots
of geraniums, the falling kind, in the windows, which made a red curtain
dropping down over the walls. We stopped at Lisieux--a quaint old Norman
town, with a fine cathedral an