A fortnight later, in the crimson of the glorious afterglow, we swung down the hill into the quaint old-world village of Arnay-le-Duc, in the Cote d'Or, a quiet, lethargic place built around its great old chateau, now, alas! in ruins since the Huguenots gained their victory there under Coligny in 1570. Scarcely had we entered the silent village street, the echoes of which were awakened by our siren, when we pulled up before the long, low-built Hotel de la Poste, a building painted grey, with _jalousies_ of the same colour, and high sloping roof of slate, like many of those ancient hostelries one finds on the great highways of France--the posting houses of the days of Louis Quatorze, which nowadays bear the golden double A of the Automobile Association. We were quite a merry trio, for since leaving England Asta had become almost her old self. The complete change of surroundings had wrought in her a wonderful improvement, and she looked sweet and dainty in her pale mauve motor-bonnet and silk dust-coat. Shaw wore dark spectacles, pleading that the whiteness of the roads pained his eyes. But I had shrewd suspicion that they were worn for disguise, for, curiously enough, of an evening he never removed them. What did he fear in France? That morning we had left Melun, where we had spent the night at the Grand Monarque, and after driving through the delightful Foret de Fontainebleau, had lunched at the Hotel de l'Epee in busy Auverre, and then spun away over the straight wide _route nationale_ through Vermenton, Avallon, and quiet old Saulieu, in the midst of the rich vinelands, until we had accomplished the steep hills between that place and Arnay-le-Duc. It was our intention to get on to Macon, a hundred kilometres farther, that night, but while we were sitting at dinner, in the unpretentious little _salle a manger_, eating a tasty meal of trout and cutlets, washed down by an old and perfect bottle of Beaune, Harris, the chauffeur, who had been hired for the tour because he knew the French roads, came and informed us of a slight breakdown of the engine, which would take him at least a couple of hours or so to repair. "Then we can't get on to Macon to-night, that's very certain," remarked Shaw. "That's a pity, Dad," exclaimed Asta, "for I wanted to spend a few hours there. I've heard it is a wonderful place to buy antiques, and I want some old crucifixes to add to my collection." "Never mind, dear," he said, "we will lunch there to-morrow. We can't expect to go through France without a single mishap. Very well, Harris," he added, "we'll stay here to-night." Three travellers in the wine trade, men who tucked their serviettes into their collars, and who ate and drank heartily, were our table companions, and soon we were all chatting merrily in French, while Madame and her two daughters waited upon us.