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CHAP. IX.
There is not a town in all France, which in my opinion, looks better in the map, than Montreuil;—I own, it does not look so well in the book of post roads; but when you come to see it—to be sure it looks most pitifully.
There is one thing however in it at present very handsome; and that is the inn-keeper's daughter: She has been eighteen months at Amiens, and six at Paris, in going through her classes; so knits, and sews, and dances, and does the little coquetries very well.———
—A slut! in running them over within these five minutes that I have stood looking at her, she has let fall at least adozen
