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Updated: June 22, 2025


A lover will spend two whole months, if necessary, in planning the construction of the mouse-trap. I have seen the most cunning men on earth thus taken in. There was a certain retired lawyer of Normandy. He lived in the little town of B , where a regiment of the chasseurs of Cantal were garrisoned.

I kept on the right bank of the river the Limousin side, leaving the Cantal to some future day, that may never come.

Not a cup of milk, not a crust of bread, would that inhospitable inn offer its over-charged guests before setting out. As I have nothing but praise to bestow upon the hostelries of the Lozere and the Cantal, I must give vent to a well-deserved malediction here. By slow degrees the perfect day dawned, a glorious sun rising in a cloudless sky.

I could see that he would not tell me anything unless I let him know that I knew all about Garofoli. "You don't mean to say he is still in prison?" I exclaimed. "Why, I thought he'd got out long ago." "No, he's got another three months yet." Garofoli three more months in prison! Mattia could breathe. I left the horrible yard as quickly as possible and hurried off to the Hotel du Cantal.

On the south side of the platform a no less remarkable spectacle meets the eye. The chain of Puys and broken craters stretches away southwards for a distance of nearly ten miles, while the horizon is bounded in that direction by the lofty masses of the Mont Dore, Cantal, and Le Puy ranges.

I entered St. Céré at sundown. This bright little town lies in the midst of fertility. It is on the banks of the Bave, and at the foot of a hill that rises abruptly from the plain, and is capped by two towers of a ruined feudal stronghold, which show against the horizon far into the Quercy, the Corrèze, and the Cantal.

In a few words I told him that Barberin was dead and that there was now little hope that I could ever find my family. Then he gave me all the sympathy of which I was in need. He tried to console me and told me not to despair. He wished as sincerely as I that we could find my parents. We returned to the Hotel du Cantal.

Having relinquished the Causses, the rapids of the Tarn, and Montpellier-le-Vieux for this year, I had hired a carriage, intending to drive straight across the Lozere, sleeping at St. Chely, to St. Flour, chef-lieu of the Cantal, thence making excursions to the two departments. I wanted especially to see Condat-es-Feniers and La Chaldette, the two sweet spots already alluded to.

So now I ought not to harbor any bitterness against him. I soon reached the Hotel du Cantal which was only a hotel in name, being nothing better than a miserable lodging house. "I want to see a man named Barberin; he comes from Chavanon," I said to a dirty old woman who sat at a desk. She was very deaf and asked me to repeat what I had said. "Do you know a man named Barberin?" I shouted.

An old woman who had lived long enough to overcome such timidity, asked me if I was a marchand, by which she meant pedlar the old question to which I have grown weary of replying. About a mile from the town I found the Dordogne again. It had grown to quite a fine river since I last saw it in the ravines below Bort. Many an eager affluent had rushed into it, both on the Correze and the Cantal side.

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