As we came galloping around a curve in the river--I cannot insist too strongly upon the dashing impetuosity that was the constant buoyant undertone of our voyage--this Tournon the blessed shot up before us perked out upon a bold little hill thrust forward into the stream: a crowd of heavily-built houses rising around a church or two and a personable campanile, with here and there bits of crenellated ramparts, and higher still the tough remnant of a castle still fit to do service in the wars. Indeed, it all was so good in colour--with its blendings of green and grey shot with warm yellow tones; and its composition was so excellent--with its sweep upward from the river to the castle battlements--that to my American fancy (used rather to Mediaeval semblances than to Mediaeval realities) it seemed to be temporarily escaped from an exceptionally well-set operatic stage. [Illustration: THE LANDING-PLACE AT TOURNON] All Tournon was down at the water-side to meet us, and on the landing-stage was the very Mayor: a lean and tri-coloured man who took off his hat comprehensively to our whole company in a magnificent bow. Notables were with him--the Sous-Prefect, the Mayor of Tain, the Adjoint, leading citizens--who also bowed to us; but not with a bow like his! Laurel garlands decorated the landing-stage; more laurel garlands and the national colours made gay the roadway leading up the bank; and over the roadway was a laurel-wreathed and tri-coloured triumphal arch--all as suitable to welcoming poets and patriots, such as we were, as suitable could be. As the _Gladiateur_ drew in to the bank there was a noble banging of _boites_--which ancient substitute for cannon in joy-firing still are esteemed warmly in rural France--and before the Mayor spoke ever a word to us the band bounded gallantly into the thick of the "Marseillaise." With the _boite_ banging fitfully, with the band in advance playing "La Coupe," the tri-coloured Mayor led off with the most distinguished lady of our company upon his arm: and away we all went, under the triumphal arch and up the garlanded roadway two by two--as though Tournon were a Rhone-side Ararat and we were the animals coming out of the Ark. Our entry was a veritable triumph; and we endeavoured (I think successfully) to live up to it: walking stately through the narrow streets, made narrower by the close-packed crowds pressing to see so rare a poetic spectacle; through the cool long corridors of the Lycee; and so out upon a prettily dignified little park--where, at a triad of tables set within a garlanded enclosure beneath century-old plane-trees, our breakfast was served to us to the accompaniment of bangs from the _boite_ and musical remarks from the band. And all Tournon, the while, stood above us on a terrace and sympathetically looked on.