wn,
worth seeing, but we were eager now to get to the true South, and merely
gave ourselves time to lunch (the waiter producing, with a flourish,
enticing but indigestible _pates de perdrix aux truffes_) and to drive
slowly along some of the famous terraced boulevards that form the
distinction and the charm of Angouleme. Certainly the place stands
romantically on its high and lonely hill, almost surrounded by the clear
waters of the Charante. At Angouleme we saw, I may say, the first
professional beggars we had met on the tour. A warm sun seems to breed
beggars as it breeds mosquitoes, or is it that Southern peoples have
less self-respect than the Northern?

A drawback to automobilism in France is the fact that many of the great
direct main roads are _pave_. I believe that this is a remnant of the
old days of road-making, when these heavy cobbles formed the one
surface that would stand artillery. For ordinary traffic the _pave_
roads are impossible, and their existence must be a drawback to trade
and intercourse. In France they sell special bicycling maps showing with
dotted lines all the _pave_ roads, and these I have carefully studied,
as it is worth making any _detour_ to avoid the awful jolting of the
_pave_. But somehow, between Angouleme and Bordeaux, I took a wrong
turning, and suddenly on ahead of us the good road ceased abruptly as if
a straight line had been ruled across it, and the detestable _pave_
began.

"Oh, let's try it as an experience," commanded my Goddess. "I hate going
back, and perhaps it doesn't last long." I trusted to this hope, for I
knew that in many places the _pave_ is being dug up, here and there only
short stretches of it being left, and I gingerly drove the Napier on to
the execrable surface of uneven stones. We rattled and tossed, and
steering became a matter of difficulty. The irritating thing was that
each side of this detestable road were wide belts of inviting grass, but
with malignant ingenuity these are cut up at frequent intervals by
oblique drainage gutters, which forbid the passage of anything wider
than a bicycle. For bicycles there are indeed special tracks kept in
order by the Touring Club de France, but all four-wheeled vehicles must
jolt and bump along the rough, uneven stones. By the time we reached the
first cross-road Aunt Mary begged for mercy, and I was glad to have the
order to get off the _pave_ at any cost. Soundly as the Napier is built,
it was a tremendous and u