Protestant. The maire, a Protestant, asked me to help him in a small matter which is itself characteristic of the country. The young women of the Cévennes profit by the common religion and the difference of the language to go largely as governesses into England; and here was one, a native of Mialet, struggling with English circulars from two different agencies in London. I gave what help I could; and volunteered some advice, which struck me as being excellent.
One thing more I note. The phylloxera has ravaged the vineyards in this neighbourhood; and in the early morning, under some Chestnuts by the river, I found a party of men working with a cider-press. I could not at first make out what they were after, and asked one fellow to explain.
"Making cider," he said. "Oui, c'est comme ça. Comme dans le nord!"
There was a ring of sarcasm in his voice; the country was going to the devil.
It was not until I was fairly seated by the driver, and rattling through a rocky valley with dwarf olives, that I became aware of my bereavement.
