*
In entering Nemours, on the Paris side, one crosses the canal of the Loing, the banks of which make both rustic ramparts and picturesque walks for this pretty little town. Since 1830, several houses have, unfortunately, been built on this side of the bridge. If this species of suburb increases, the appearance of the town will lose its charming originality. But, in 1829, the sides of the way being clear, the postmaster, a big, stout man about sixty years of age, seated at the highest point of this bridge, could perfectly well, on a fine morning, embrace that which, in the terms of his profession, is called a highroad. The month of September was putting forth its treasures, the atmosphere burning above the grass and stones, no cloud disturbing the blue of the ether whose purity, everywhere intense, even on the horizon, told of the exceeding rarefaction of the air. So that Minoret-Levrault, as the postmaster was called, was obliged to make a screen
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