I bowed my head in admiration, surrender, and joy. There stood the most ample bottle, and it was not yet eleven o’clock. Doors locked and shutters banged throughout the establishment. Some last servant yawned on his way to bed. Monsieur Voiron opened a window and the moonlight flooded in from a small pebbled court outside. One could almost hear the town of Chambres breathing in its first sleep. Presently, there was a thick noise in the air, the passing of feet and hooves, lowings, and a stifled bark or two. Dust rose over the courtyard wall, followed by the strong smell of cattle. “They are moving some beasts,” said Monsieur Voiron, cocking an ear. “Mine, I think. Yes, I hear Christophe. Our beasts do not like automobiles--so we move at night. You do not know our country--the Crau, here, or the Camargue? I was--I am now, again--of it. All France is good; but this is the best.” He spoke, as only a Frenchman can, of his own loved part of his own lovely land. “For myself, if I were not so involved in all these affairs,” he pointed to the advertisements--“I would live on our farm with my cattle, and worship them like a Hindu. You know our cattle of the Camargue, Monsieur. No? It is not an acquaintance to rush upon lightly. There are no beasts like them. They have a mentality superior to that of others. They graze and they ruminate, by choice, facing our Mistral, which is more than some automobiles will do. Also they have in them the potentiality of thought--and when cattle think--I have seen what arrives.” “Are they so clever as all that?” I asked idly. “Monsieur, when your sportif chauffeur camouflaged your limousine so that she resembled one of your Army lorries, I would not believe her capacities. I bet him--ah--two to one--she would not touch ninety kilometres. It was proved that she could. I can give you no proof, but will you believe me if I tell you what a beast who thinks can achieve?” “After the War,” said I spaciously, “everything is credible.”