anguage
clear and intelligible to Chicot, "See, we are happy here."

Often he heard the sound of heavy wheels, and then saw coming along the
wagon of the vintages, full of casks and of children with red faces.
Sometimes an arquebuse from behind a hedge, or vines, or fig-trees, made
him tremble for fear of an ambush, but it always turned out to be a
hunter, followed by his great dogs, traversing the plain, plentiful in
hares, to reach the mountain, equally full of partridges and heathcocks.
Although the season was advanced, and Chicot had left Paris full of fog
and hoar-frost, it was here warm and fine. The great trees, which had
not yet entirely lost their leaves, which, indeed, in the south they
never lose entirely, threw deep shadows from their reddening tops.

The Bearnais peasants, their caps over one ear, rode about on the
little cheap horses of the country, which seem indefatigable, go twenty
leagues at a stretch, and, never combed, never covered, give themselves
a shake at the end of their journey, and go to graze on the first tuft
of heath, their only and sufficing repast.

"Ventre de biche!" said Chicot; "I have never seen Gascony so rich. I
confess the letter weighs on my mind, although I have translated it into
Latin. However, I have never heard that Henriot, as Charles IX. called
him, knew Latin; so I will give him a free French translation."

Chicot inquired, and was told that the king was at Nerac. He turned to
the left to reach this place, and found the road full of people
returning from the market at Condom. He learned, for Chicot, careful in
answering the questions of others, was a great questioner himself, that
the king of Navarre led a very joyous life, and was always changing from
one love to another.

He formed the acquaintance of a young Catholic priest, a sheep-owner,
and an officer, who had joined company on the road, and were traveling
together. This chance association seemed to him to represent Navarre,
learned, commercial, and military.

The officer recounted to him several sonnets which had been made on the
loves of the king and the beautiful La Fosseuse, daughter of Rene de
Montmorency, baron de Fosseux.

"Oh!" said Chicot; "in Paris, we believe that the king is mad about
Mlle. de Rebours."

"Oh! that is at Pau."

"What! has the king a mistress in every town?"

"Very likely; I know that he was the lover of Mlle. de Dayelle, while I
was in garrison at Castelnaudry."

"Oh! Mlle.