Font-Ségugne is situated near the Camp-Cabel, facing in the distance the great Ventoux mountain, and a few miles from the Fountain of Vaucluse. It takes its name from a little spring which runs at the foot of the castle. A delicious little copse of oaks, acacias and planes protects the place from winter winds and the summer sun. Tavan, the peasant poet of Gadagne, says of Font-Ségugne: “It is the favourite trysting-spot of the village lovers on Sundays, for there they find a grateful shade, solitude, quiet nooks, little stone benches covered with ivy, winding paths among the trees, a lovely view, the song of birds, the rustling of leaves, the rippling of brooks! Where better than in such a spot can the solitary wander and dream of love, or the happy pair resort, and love?” Here we came, to re-create ourselves like mountain birds--Roumanille, Mathieu, Brunet, Tavan, Crousillat, and, above all, Aubanel, under the spell of the eyes of Zani, a fair young friend of the young ladies of the house: In his “Livre de l’Amour,” Aubanel drew the portrait of his enchantress: “Soon I shall see her--the young maiden with her slender form clad in a soft gown of grey--with her smooth brow and her beauteous eyes, her long black hair and lovely face. Soon I shall see her, the youthful virgin, and she will say to me ‘Good evening.’ Oh Zani, come quickly!” In after years, when his Zani had taken the veil, he writes of Font-Ségugne, recalling the past: “It is summer--the nights are clear. Over the copse the moon mounts and shines down on Camp-Cabel. Dost thou remember, behind the convent walls, thou with thy Spanish face, how we chased each other, running, racing like mad, among the trees, till in the dark wood thou wast afraid? And ah, how sweet it was when my arm stole round thy slender waist, and to the song of the nightingales we danced together, while thou didst mingle thy fresh young voice with the notes of the birds. Ah, sweet little friend, where are they now, those songs and joys! When tired of running, of laughing, of dancing, I remember how we sat down beneath the oak-trees to rest. My hand, a lover’s hand, played with thy long raven tresses which, loosened, fell about thee--and smiling gently as a mother on her child, thou didst not forbid me.” On the walls of the room at the château where Zani had once slept, he wrote these lines: “O little chamber--dear little chamber! How small to hold so many remembrances! As I cross the threshold it seems to me I hear them come--those two sweet maids Zani and Julia. But never will they sleep again in this little room--those days are flown for ever--Julia dwells no more on earth, and my Zani is a nun.”