-- Oh, no, monsieur, never, no one.... It was very different at the time when we were the only the coaching inn around here. We did the lunches for the hunt during the soter bird season, as well as coaches all the year round.... But since the other place has opened up, we've lost everything.... The world and his wife prefer to go across the way. They find it just too miserable here.... The simple fact is that this place doesn't interest them. I'm not beautiful, I have prickly heat, and my two little girls are dead.... Over there it's very different, there is laughter all the time. A woman from Arles, a beautiful woman with lots of lace and three gold chains round her neck, keeps the place. The driver, her lover, brings in customers for her in the coach. She also has a number of attractive girls for chamber maids.... This also brings lots of business in! She gets all the young people from Bezouces, from Redessan and from Jonquières. The coachmen go out of their way to call in at her place.... As for me, I'm stuck in here all day, all alone, eating my heart out. She said all that with a distracted, vacant way, forehead still pressed against the window pane. Obviously, there was something in the inn opposite that really interested her.... Suddenly, over the road, a lot started to happen. The coach edged forward in the dust. The sounds of cracking whips and a horn was heard. The young girls squeezed together in the doorway and shouted: --Goodbye!... Goodbye!... And above all that, the wonderful voice, singing, as before, most beautifully, Took her little silver can, To the river made her way, She didn't notice by the water, Three young cavaliers, quite near. The woman's whole body shook on hearing that voice; and she turned towards me and whispered: --Do you hear that? That's my husband.... Don't you think he has a beautiful voice? I looked at her, stupefied. --What? Your husband?... So even he goes over there? Then, with an apologetic air, but movingly, she said: --What can you do, monsieur? Men are like that, they don't like tears, and I'm always breaking down, since our little girls died.... Then, this dump of a place, where nobody comes, is so miserable.... Well then, when he gets really fed up, my poor dear José goes over the road for a drink, and, the woman from Arles gets him to sing with that gorgeous voice of his. Hush!... There he goes again. And, trembling, and with huge tears that made her look even more ugly, she stood there in front of the window, hands held out in ecstasy, listening to her José singing to the woman from Arles: The first was bold and whispered to her, You're so beautiful my dear! AT MILIANAH _Notes from the Voyage._ This time, I am going to take you away to spend a day a very long way from the windmill in a pretty little Algerian town.... It will be a nice change from the tambourines and cicadas....