It is a truism, venerable to the verge of dotage, to say that the way not to enjoy travelling is to do it at a rush, spending the days in sight-seeing, and the nights in the train; but this disposition of things has one merit, it keeps the anguish out of farewells. The heart-tendrils have not time to weave themselves round the _concierge_, the chambermaid is still your bitterest foe, the waiter has not yet risen to the position of an unnaturally obliging brother; you are too hurried to discover the full charms of the _armoire à glace_ in the bedroom, or the verandah outside the _salon_ windows, and you scurry from one hotel to another, unregretful and heart-whole. But a week--and we were the best part of a week at Pauillac--gives ample time for the forming of those ill-fated foreign friendships which are destined never, as Rossetti says, ‘to find an earthly close.’ I do not know from how many hotels in various parts of France we have gone forth sorrowing, and asseverating our intention of returning there directly our affairs in Ireland could be wound up so as to permit of our leaving that country for life. To their melancholy number must now be added the Grand Hôtel du Commerce, Pauillac. On the last sad day we had to start early,--a proceeding that is a strain upon the constitution of any hotel,--but never, on our laziest mornings, had we such lavish cans of _eau bouillante_, nor such hot coffee, nor such a foaming jug of freshly boiled milk. Léonie the chambermaid, Louis the _garçon_, Jeanne the cook, all vied with each other in fond efforts to enhance the poignancy of parting; even the bill, usually a styptic to the tender pain of farewell, was affectingly moderate. ‘Black,’ the big dog, paced beside us to the curious little vehicle, not unlike a county Cork inside car, that was to take us to the station; he was bestridden [Illustration: MY COUSIN ENDURED THE CLAMMY TOUCH OF ‘BAMBOO’ UPON HER FINGER WITH SCARCELY A SHUDDER.] as usual by the monkey, and in her softened mood my cousin endured the clammy clutch of ‘Bamboo’ upon her finger with scarcely a shudder. Jeanne’s little girl had given us a flaming bouquet of scarlet geraniums and heliotrope; two bunches of grapes had been pressed upon us by Madame, to sustain us on our journey; and, at the last moment, our friend who had been the first to introduce us to the secrets of wine-making darted forward with a card addressed to the proprietor of a restaurant in Bordeaux, on which that gentleman was prayed to serve to ‘_ces demoiselles_’ a bottle of Grand St. Lambert, ‘85, at the expense of its original producer. Of course we left vowing to return for the _vendange_ next year, and trying to believe that we should be as good as our word. It seemed the only way given to us of marking our sense of their kindness.