OMMUNALE in great letters,
and then they had written over a kind of lean-to or out-house of this
big place the words 'Hotel de ville' in very small letters, so small
that I had a doubt for a moment if the citizens here were good
republicans--a treasonable thought on all this frontier.

Then, a mile onward, I saw the road cross the canal and run parallel
to it. I saw the canal run another mile or so under a fine bank of
deep woods. I saw an old bridge leading over it to that inviting
shade, and as it was now nearly six and the sun was gathering
strength, I went, with slumber overpowering me and my feet turning
heavy beneath me, along the tow-path, over the bridge, and lay down on
the moss under these delightful trees. Forgetful of the penalty that
such an early repose would bring, and of the great heat that was to
follow at midday, I quickly became part of the life of that forest and
fell asleep.

When I awoke it was full eight o'clock, and the sun had gained great
power. I saw him shining at me through the branches of my trees like
a patient enemy outside a city that one watches through the loopholes
of a tower, and I began to be afraid of taking the road. I looked
below me down the steep bank between the trunks and saw the canal
looking like black marble, and I heard the buzzing of the flies above
it, and I noted that all the mist had gone. A very long way off, the
noise of its ripples coming clearly along the floor of the water, was
a lazy barge and a horse drawing it. From time to time the tow-rope
slackened into the still surface, and I heard it dripping as it rose.
The rest of the valley was silent except for that under-humming of
insects which marks the strength of the sun.

Now I saw clearly how difficult it was to turn night into day, for I
found myself condemned either to waste many hours that ought to be
consumed on my pilgrimage, or else to march on under the extreme heat;
and when I had drunk what was left of my Brule wine (which then seemed
delicious), and had eaten a piece of bread, I stiffly jolted down the
bank and regained the highway.

In the first village I came to I found that Mass was over, and this
justly annoyed me; for what is a pilgrimage in which a man cannot hear
Mass every morning? Of all the things I have read about St Louis which
make me wish I had known him to speak to, nothing seems to me more
delightful than his habit of getting Mass daily whenever he marched
down south, but why