For all that, our voyager had got beyond Chateau Renard before he was conscious of arousing wonder. On the road between that place and Chatillon-sur-Loing, however, he encountered a rural postman; they fell together in talk, and spoke of a variety of subjects; but through one and all, the postman was still visibly preoccupied, and his eyes were faithful to the _Arethusa's_ knapsack. At last, with mysterious roguishness, he inquired what it contained, and on being answered, shook his head with kindly incredulity. "_Non_," said he, "_non, vous avez des portraits_." And then with a languishing appeal, "_Voyons_, show me the portraits!" It was some little time before the _Arethusa_, with a shout of laughter, recognized his drift. By portraits he meant indecent photographs; and in the _Arethusa_, an austere and rising author, he thought to have identified a pornographic _colporteur_. When country-folk in France have made up their minds as to a person's calling, argument is fruitless. Along all the rest of the way, the postman piped and fluted meltingly to get a sight of the collection; now he would upbraid, now he would reason--"_Voyons_, I will tell nobody"; then he tried corruption, and insisted on paying for a glass of wine; and at last, when their ways separated--"_Non_," said he, "_ce n'est pas bien de votre part. O non, ce n'est pas bien_." And shaking his head with quite a sentimental sense of injury, he departed unrefreshed. On certain little difficulties encountered by the _Arethusa_ at Chatillon-sur-Loing, I have not space to dwell; another Chatillon, of grislier memory, looms too near at hand. But the next day, in a certain hamlet called La Jussiere, he stopped to drink a glass of syrup in a very poor, bare drinking-shop. The hostess, a comely woman, suckling a child, examined the traveller with kindly and pitying eyes. "You are not of this Department?" she asked. The _Arethusa_ told her he was English. "Ah!" she said, surprised. "We have no English. We have many Italians, however, and they do very well; they do not complain of the people of hereabouts. An Englishman may do very well also; it will be something new." Here was a dark saying, over which the _Arethusa_ pondered as he drank his grenadine; but when he rose and asked what was to pay, the light came upon him in a flash. "_O, pour vous_," replied the landlady, "a halfpenny!" _Pour vous_? By heaven, she took him for a beggar! He paid his halfpenny, feeling that it were ungracious to correct her. But when he was forth again upon the road, he became vexed in spirit. The conscience is no gentleman, he is a rabbinical fellow; and his conscience told him he had stolen the syrup.