As I sat on three chairs after dinner in dreamy repose, sipping the last of my bottle of bordeaux, and revolving the events of the day, Jones entered, licking his lips. Really he looked, already, ten per cent better than when we crossed the Bidassoa--his complexion fresher and more wholesome, his aspect decidedly less misanthropic;--I began to imagine some truth in his theory, that English soldiers, who had served in Spain, grew fat on entering France. He laid hands, without ceremony, on the garments which I had doffed before dinner, and walked away with them. Rain and mud, indeed, had horribly maltreated them; and Jones, holding out the coat at arm's length, inspected it in silence, as he moved towards the door. How beguile the hours till bed-time? I looked out. What a lovely night! The silent moonbeams fell on the paved court at the entrance of our inn. Beyond, all was luminous, but indistinct. Below, there was an open doorway, with a seat--a curious old carved concern,--the very place, the very hour, for a cigar! A cigar? Why, I've a box-full! Come, Mons. Thouvenot; we'll see what sort of havannahs you smoke there in Bayonne. The havannahs were prime--the forenoon had been fatiguing--I had dined. A pleasing languor repaid the toils of the morning. Soon, though, it was broken, by the sound of distant violins--not badly handled, neither. This part of France is the land of the violin: you find a decent performer in every village. The sound proceeded from the premises at the back of the _auberge_; and I had previously noticed some of the villagers gliding into the inn-yard by a side entrance. Impelled by curiosity, I took the liberty of following their example; and soon found my way, amongst stables and out-houses, to a small gate opening into a garden or shrubbery, at which gate sat my jovial friend the landlord, dispensing tickets of admission, refreshments included, at six sous each. It was a sort of rural _salon de danse_, where the villagers met nightly, to exhibit and cultivate their national nimbleness of toe. Much preferring these rural fêtes to a regular French ball, I have attended at many a _guinguette_ since; but as this was the first, and had all the piquancy of a surprise, I beg leave to give you a short description. Passing on through an alley among the trees, and guided by the mellow note of the violin, I soon reached the ball-room, which was simply a large boarded square, with a roof above, but three sides open,--the fourth was the orchestra. There I found assembled the youth of the village, and not only the youth, but some of their elders--three violins in full operation--and the ball at its height. _Cotillons_ were the order of the day, much like those which had been introduced into the aristocratic circles of England two or three years before, say 1811, or 1812, under the name of quadrilles. The dancing was good, really good--time admirable--no mistakes--no confusion--all could dance.