The road to Arnay-le-Duc, without being more than ordinarily interesting, gives you some fine views over the Côte d'Or. You pass through Antigny-le-Chatel, where there is a fine ruin on a hill, and below it a later ghostly castle of the 14th or 15th century, with the high-pitched roof of the period, and a round tower. At Froissy, entering an inn in search of déjeuner, we found a wedding in full swing. Through a glass panelled door we could see half a dozen perspiring couples scuffling round what would be described in England as the bar parlour. We were detected at once; hot faces were pressed against the glass, while Madame produced an armful of bread, and some cheese on a broken plate. "Par ici, m'sieur et dame," said she; "Vous serez mieux dans la charmesse." She opened the panelled door, and, one carrying the bread, and the other the cheese on a broken plate, we walked in grand procession through the ballroom--so shaking with our inward mirth that the cheese nearly came to grief. The poor bride, however--a study in sticky purple and white, not good to look upon--did not relish the joke; she scowled upon the intruders; but madame seemed glad to have us--and ready to talk to us, as we sat in the charmesse--a little dusty, rickety arbour, through which the south wind was blowing clouds of dust. "That castle over there. Oh! no one has lived in it these many years now, except rats. You can't tax them. You see the Government put such heavy taxes upon the castles that they just drive people away. There's not a habited château now in all Côte d'Or. And what weather! Such a wind! Nous n'avons plus de saisons en Bourgogne." "Whose wedding is this?" said my wife, looking towards the ballroom bar-parlour. "Oh that's my nephew; he is a vigneron, and a good lad. Is madame married, and has she children? No children! Then madame, je vous souhaite un beau fils." As for me, I was speculating on the market price of rat-poison, of castles in the Côte d'Or, and on the squeezability of the French government in the matter of assessments. * * * * * Few incidents in life give more pleasure than happy discovery. That is why we so much enjoyed Arnay-le-Duc. We just found it out, by instinct, or by chance. For nobody knows about it; not even the learned people who write guide-books. And as for the motorists; they come in with the darkness, and go out with the dawn--"Must be at Dijon by ten."