The country, as one travels from Cluny to Paray-le Monial, is varied and interesting--so were the other passengers. At Charolles, there entered our compartment two priests, one of whom devoted himself to his book, while the other, a very tall, spare ecclesiastic, divided his time evenly between his breviary, the sign of the cross, and a close scrutiny of my wife. Whether there was any connection in his mind between the last two occupations, I am unable to determine. This little incident was sufficient to remind us that Paray--as the adjunct Le Monial implies--is a town of ecclesiastical origin and tradition. It was, in fact, a daughter of Cluny, an annexe of the maison abbatiale, and a place of rest and of villégiature for the abbots, who had their country seat here. To-day it is the centre of the cult of the Sacré Cœur, and a favourite place of pilgrimage for the French peasantry of the district. On arrival at the station, while I was engaged with the luggage, a straw-hatted individual, who had been lounging about in the company of a young woman, drew my wife's attention to the fact that there was no "plaque" on our bicycles. On being referred to me, he demanded my permit, which I naturally refused to exhibit, until he had proved his authority to ask for it. He then produced, from his pocket-book, a printed paper, which appeared to be the document required. I showed my permit accordingly; whereupon, with a satirical smile, and the remark, "Une simple formalité, Monsieur," the insuppressible strolled off. Insolent officialism is one of the "désagréments" of France, to which a few more years of democratic supremacy will probably expose this country also. A breach of that "simple formalité," as he called it, would inevitably have brought me to the sub-prefecture, and would have cost me thirty francs and costs, for each machine. Let cyclists in France see that they comply with all "simples formalités." Setting out in the morning to explore Paray, we had corroborative evidence of an impression already formed, concerning the manners--or want of them--of many Burgundians. Two or three groups of young girls, passing us in the streets, burst into shrieks of laughter under our very noses; and a band of school children, who intercepted and surrounded us at a corner shop, in a narrow lane, could not have shown deeper interest had we been two teddy bears, or a Punch and Judy show. They made the street absolutely impassable; we could not move until the shop-keeper emerged, and drove them away. [Illustration: Two Priests]