Not less lovely was the same spot next morning, when all the landscape shone in a light that had in it already something of southern intensity; when wind and sun were stirring the rushes by the water side, and jewelling the rippled sweep of the river below the dark towers of St. Philibert. Two gaily-caparisoned horses, led by a small boy in a black blouse, came plodding along the towing-path. Two rowers were easing the horses' labours, with long oars which flashed as they rose and fell. The banks and meadows were dotted with the same herds of white philosophers, browsing, and lazily swishing their tails; only, this morning, heads were bent down to the luscious feast of green, whereas, towards evening, they are lifted, to ruminate through long hours of dreamy delight. * * * * * Mâcon, to which we paid a flying visit during the interval between two trains, was once the capital of the Mâconnais, until that country was incorporated with the Duchy of Burgundy. It is now too wholly modern a town to retain much character or interest. Almost all the ancient houses are destroyed, and of the two cathedrals--St. Pierre and St. Vincent--the former is wholly modern. The west front of the old church, which was sacked during the Revolution, remains. Our best impression of Mâcon was the view of the town and river from the train, as it left for Bourg. [Illustration: End of chapter XI; By the Saône] FOOTNOTES: [130] "L'Art en Bourgogne." Perrault-Dabot p. 55. [131] Viollet le Duc seems to doubt whether it was originally intended for defence. [132] The history of his time, by Raoul Glaber. [133] August, 1725. [134] "L'Art en Bourgogne," Perrault-Dabot. [135] "Hippolytus" of Euripides, Gilbert Murray's translation. [Illustration: Heading, chapter XII; Antigny-le-Chatel] CHAPTER XII IN THE VALLEY OF THE OUCHE Ever since developing a keen interest in the fortunes of the great Burgundian monasteries, we had decided to take the first opportunity of seeing the Valley of the Ouche, and Labussière, the adopted daughter of Citeaux. It was a public holiday; and the train from Dijon was packed with excursionists. I found myself the only male in a compartment crammed with eight old ladies, mostly stout, and all in holiday spirits. We fell into conversation. They all expressed kindly interest in the task that had brought me to Dijon. I was catechized. "Has Monsieur seen the prisons of Dijon?" "No, Madame; je n'aime pas beaucoup ces endroits là." Little tinkling laughs ran all round the carriage. "But I only just missed seeing them yesterday--because I had left behind me my permis de circulation. You have so many regulations in France." "Talking of regulations, Monsieur," said the stoutest and shrewdest of the old ladies, with a wicked twinkle in her eye, "Permit me to call to your attention to the fact that you are in a "Dames seules!"