ried and less "obvious" tour if we went down by Bordeaux and
Biarritz, snatched a glimpse of Spain, travelled along the foot of the
Pyrenees to Marseilles, and so reach the Riviera by this long detour.
The word "obvious" is a black beast to an American girl, who will be
original or nothing; therefore my suggestion is in the way of being
carried out. I've written to my mother that I can't reach Cannes before
she herself leaves for Rome; thus I gain time. Still, the day of
disclosure must come at last, and the longer it's put off the less I
like to think about it.

The Goddess (alias Miss Randolph) is staying with her aunt at the
"Angleterre." I have slunk off here, having arranged matters with the
hall porter at the other place, who will, if my mistress wants me, send
a messenger post-haste. Meanwhile the car reposes in a _garage_, where
it is kept clean and in running order without any trouble to me. As I
have gradually drifted into the position of Miss Randolph's courier as
well as her _chauffeur_, I can plan these things as I like, for she
never glances at her bills, which I settle, giving an account every few
days. Do you recall your own story of the conscientious Yankee from the
country who failed in his efforts to eat straight through the _menu_ at
a Paris hotel dinner, and appealed to the waiter to know whether he
might now "skip from thar to thar"? Well, I would skip on my _menu_ from
Loches to Biarritz; but you were to have been my companion on this trip,
and you cry for details.

From Loches we took a cross-country route which brought us out in the
main road from Tours to Bordeaux at Dange. There isn't much to say about
that run, except that it was through agreeable, undulating country with
wide horizons, like a thousand other undulations and horizons in France.
At La Haye-Descartes we struck a pretty picture when crossing a bridge
over the River Creuse. The setting sun had performed the miracle of
turning the water into wine, and, chattering and laughing as if that
wine had gone to their pretty heads, a company of girls and young women,
all on their knees, cheerfully did their washing in the stream. It was
one of those homely scenes that one is constantly coming across in this
"pleasant land of France" to leave a picture in one's mind. Miss
Randolph would have me stop the car on the bridge to watch it.

A queer thing about France, by the way. You and I have both been
entertained right royally in jolly old _c