hat was not worth the
trouble of finding. I had seen spurge and juniper, and ribs of rock
rising everywhere above the short turf, until I grew weary of the
sameness. Now, the sun, whose ardour was already melting into the
tenderness of evening, shone upon a broad valley, where the grass
stood high in rich meadows separated from other meadows and green
cornfields by hedges, from the midst of which rose many a tall tree.
The blackbird's low, flute-like note sounded above the shrilling of the
grasshoppers.

The little village of Padirac was entered at sundown. The small inn
where I chose my quarters for the night had a garden at the back,
where vines in new leaf were trained, over a trellis from end to end.
There were also broad beans in flower, peas on sticks, currant-bushes,
and pear-trees. It was a quiet, green spot, and as I strolled about it
in the twilight, vague recollections of other gardens chased one
another, but it would have been hard to say whether they were pleasant
or sad. My dinner or supper was of sorrel soup and part of a goose
that was killed the previous autumn, and, after being slightly salted,
was preserved in grease.

Lean tortoiseshell cats, with staring eyes and tails like strings,
kept near at hand, and seemed ready to commit any crime for the
smallest particle of goose. String-tailed, goggle-eyed, meagre cats
that seize your dinner if you do not keep watch over it, and when
caressed promptly respond by scratching and swearing, appear to be
held in high favour throughout this district. They are expected to
live upon rats, and it is this that makes them so disagreeable, for
although they kill rats for the pleasure of the chase, they do not
like the flavour of them. On this subject there is a standing quarrel
between them and society, which insists upon their eating the animals
that they kill. In order that the cats shall have every facility for
the chase, holes are often cut in the bottom of house-doors, so that
at night they may go in and come out as the quarry moves them. Should
any food have been left about, what with the rats and the cats, not a
trace of it will be seen in the morning. This I know from experience.

Being within a mile or so of the Puit de Padirac--that gloomy hole in
the earth which was supposed to be one of the devil's short-cuts
between this world and his own, until M. Martel proved almost
conclusively that it was not the way to the infernal city, but to a
subterranean ri