All French working men wear the blouse. It is almost like a uniform, and by the colour of his blouse one can generally guess a man's trade. Painters, masons, grocers, and bakers wear the white blouse; mechanics and the better class of farmers seem to prefer black, and the ordinary peasants and labourers wear blue. The blouse is made like a big full shirt, and reaches nearly to the knees. You will see men well dressed in black broadcloth, white shirts and neat ties, and over all the blouse. It is really worn now to protect the clothes, but is a survival of the olden times when all trades wore a livery. At the market at Grand Andelys one could but notice the neatly dressed hair of the women folk. All Frenchwomen, of whatsoever class, always dress their hair neatly and prettily: and as the young girls seldom wear a hat or a bonnet, it shows off to so much better advantage. This is all very well in summer, but one wonders that they do not take cold in winter. The women wear felt slippers, and thrust their feet into their _sabots_, when they go out, which are not so clumsy as those of the men, dropping them at the door when they come into the house. You will always see several pairs of _sabots_ around the entrance to the home of a French working man. The children by this time had got to where the calves stood in their little fenced-in enclosure. They were not put in the market by the church with the big cattle, and Germaine felt much happier when she heard that they had been sold for farm purposes, and not for veal to the big butcher in his long white apron, who stood by, jingling his long knives that hung at his side from a chain around his waist. As they were near the bakers', Marie suggested they buy a _brioche_, and take it home to eat with their chocolate. _Brioche_ is a very delicate bread made with eggs and milk, and is esteemed as a great delicacy. The bakery looked very tempting filled with bread of all kinds and shapes,--sticks of bread a yard long, loaves like a big ring with a hole in the middle, big flat loaves which would nearly cover a small table, twisted loaves and square loaves. When they had made their purchases and rejoined their mother, they found her with Madame Daboll, who told them that poor M. Masson, the wealthy mill-owner, who had been ill so long, was dead, and there was to be a grand funeral at the church of St. Sauveur the next day. In France great respect is paid to the dead, and funerals are conducted with as much pomp as one's circumstances permit.