was Barty all over--all through life. He always gave
himself away with a liberality quite uncalled for--so he ought to
have some allowances made for that reckless and impulsive
indiscretion which caused him to be so popular in general society,
but got him into so many awkward scrapes in after-life, and made him
such mean enemies, and gave his friends so much anxiety and distress.

(And here I think it right to apologize for so much translating of
such a well-known language as French; I feel quite like another
Ollendorf--who must have been a German, by-the-way--but M. Laferte's
grammar and accent would sometimes have puzzled Ollendorf himself!)

* * * * *

Towards the close of September, M. Laferte took it into his head to
make a tour of provincial visits _en famille_. He had never done
such a thing before, and I really believe it was all to show off
Barty to his friends and relations.

It was the happiest time I ever had, and shines out by itself in
that already so unforgettably delightful vacation.

We went in a large charabancs drawn by two stout horses, starting at
six in the morning, and driving right through the Forest of la
Tremblaye; and just ahead of us, to show us the way, M. Laferte
driving himself in an old cabriolet, with Josselin (from whom he
refused to be parted) by his side, singing or talking, according to
order, or cracking jokes; we could hear the big laugh of Polyphemus!

We travelled very leisurely; I forget whether we ever changed horses
or not--but we got over a good deal of ground. We put up at the
country houses of friends and relations of the Lafertes; and visited
old historical castles and mediaeval ruins--Chateaudun and
others--and fished in beautiful pellucid tributaries of the
Loire--shot over "des chiens anglais"--danced half the night with
charming people--wandered in lovely parks and woods, and beautiful
old formal gardens with fishponds, terraces, statues, marble
fountains; charmilles, pelouses, quinconces; and all the flowers and
all the fruits of France! And the sun shone every day and all day
long--and in one's dreams all night.

And the peasants in that happy country of the Loire spoke the most
beautiful French, and had the most beautiful manners in the world.
They're famous for it.

It all seems like a fairy tale.

If being made much of, and petted and patted and admired and
wondered at, make up the sum of human bliss, Barty came in for as