nded
Amanda.

Lavinia spoke not, but shook her little sister till the hat flew off her
head, and she had only breath enough left to declare with unquenched
ardour that she would do it again the very next chance she got.

Lectures, laughter, and longings for 'my Comte' beguiled the remainder
of the way, and _Moulang_ (as Mat pronounced Moulins) was reached after
a pleasant trip through a green country, picturesque with the white
cattle of Berri. There was not much to see, but the town was so quaint
and quiet, that Amanda was seized with one of her remarkable projects.

'Let us find a little house somewhere and stay a week or two. I fain
would rest and ruminate among the white cows for a while; have a little
washing done, and slowly prepare to emerge into the world again. Lyons
is our next point, and there we must bid adieu to freedom and
shawl-straps.'

'Very well, dear,' responded Lavinia, with resignation, having learned
that the best way to curb these aberrations of genius was to give in,
and let circumstances prove their impracticability.

So Amanda inquired of the landlady if such a rustic cot could be found.
Whereupon the dingy little woman clasped her dingy little hands, and
declared that she had exactly the charming retreat desired. Truly yes,
and she would at once make her toilette, order out the carriage, and
display this lovely villa to the dear ladies.

With many misgivings the three squeezed themselves into a square
clothes-basket on wheels, drawn by an immense, bony, white horse, driven
by a striped boy, and adorned by Madame, in a towering bonnet, laden
with amazing fruit, flowers, and vegetables. Lavinia counted three
tomatoes, a bunch of grapes, poppies and pansies, wheat ears and
blackberry-vines, a red, red rose, and one small lettuce, with glass
dewdrops and green grubs lavishly sprinkled over it. A truly superb
_chapeau_ and a memorable one.

Away they trundled through stony streets, dusty roads, waste grounds,
marshy meadows, and tumbled-down pleasure-gardens, till the
clothes-basket turned down a lane, and the bony horse stopped at length
before a door in a high red wall.

'Behold!' cried madame, leading them with much clanking of keys, into a
cabbage-garden. A small tool-house stood among the garden-stuff, with
brick floors, very dirty windows, and the atmosphere of a tomb. Bags of
seed, wheel-barrows, onions, and dust cumbered the ground. Empty bottles
stood on the old table, cigar ends