ave been thankful to have
even a glass of vin de Chypre.

It was unfortunate, perhaps, that we had arrived during the "lessive";
that is always a most important function in France. In almost all the
big houses in the country (small ones, too) that is the way they do
their washing; once a month or once every three months, according to
the size of the establishment, the whole washing of the household is
done; all the linen: master's, servants', guests'; house is turned
out; the linen closets cleaned and aired! Every one looks busy and
energetic. It is quite a long affair--lasts three or four days. I
often went to see the performance when we made our "lessive" at the
chateau every month.

It always interested our English and American friends, as the washing
is never done in that way in either of their countries. It was very
convenient at our place as we had plenty of room. The "lavoir" stood
at the top of the steps leading into the kitchen gardens; there was a
large, square tank sunk in the ground, so that the women could kneel
to their work, then a little higher another of beautiful clear water,
all under cover. Just across the path there was a small house with a
blazing wood fire; in the middle an enormous tub where all the linen
was passed through wood ashes. There were four "lessiveuses"
(washerwomen), sturdy peasant women with very short skirts, sabots,
and turbans (made of blue and white checked calico) on their heads,
their strong red arms bared above the elbow. The Mere Michon, the
eldest of the four, directed everything and kept them well at work,
allowed very little talking; they generally chatter when they are
washing and very often quarrel. When they are washing at the public
"lavoir" in the village one hears their shrill voices from a great
distance. Our "lingere," Mme. Hubert, superintended the whole
operation; she was very keen about it and remonstrated vigorously when
they slapped the linen too hard sometimes with the little flat sticks,
like spades, they use. The linen all came out beautifully white and
smooth, hadn't the yellow look that all city-washed clothes have.

I think Mme. B. was very glad to get rid of us, and to begin folding
her linen and putting it back in the big wooden wardrobes, that one
sees everywhere in France. Some of the old Norman wardrobes, with
handsome brass locks and beautifully carved doors, are real works of
art--very difficult to get and very expensive. Fifty years ago the