DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.61635#0232
r 228 ]
day of misfortunes. The country was hilly; we
were always working up, with only occasional short
coasts down, now through villages on the hillside,
and now between steep wooded banks.—Once,
when, sore perplexed to know which way to go,
we were pedalling slowly in indecision, the road
made a sudden curve, the banks fell on either
side, and there at last they were, the long blue
ranges, and, away beyond, one snow-crowned peak
shining in sunlight.—After that, they—the delec-
table mountains of our Sentimental Journey—were
always hopefully before us.
—Just outside St. Jean Bournay we came upon
the right road from Vienne, but twenty-two kilo-
metres from that city, we saw on the kilometre-
stone, and we had already ridden forty-four !
—At the other end of the town we passed a
theatre, a large canvas tent with two or three
travelling vans close by. A crowd had gathered
around it, and were staring with interest at a
printed notice hung in front. It was an old
American poster, picked up, who knows where ?
with the name of the play in French above and
below it.
A woman in the crowd explained that a negro
was the slave of a planter.-
“ Or a Prussian, perhaps ? ” a man suggested.
“No ;
day of misfortunes. The country was hilly; we
were always working up, with only occasional short
coasts down, now through villages on the hillside,
and now between steep wooded banks.—Once,
when, sore perplexed to know which way to go,
we were pedalling slowly in indecision, the road
made a sudden curve, the banks fell on either
side, and there at last they were, the long blue
ranges, and, away beyond, one snow-crowned peak
shining in sunlight.—After that, they—the delec-
table mountains of our Sentimental Journey—were
always hopefully before us.
—Just outside St. Jean Bournay we came upon
the right road from Vienne, but twenty-two kilo-
metres from that city, we saw on the kilometre-
stone, and we had already ridden forty-four !
—At the other end of the town we passed a
theatre, a large canvas tent with two or three
travelling vans close by. A crowd had gathered
around it, and were staring with interest at a
printed notice hung in front. It was an old
American poster, picked up, who knows where ?
with the name of the play in French above and
below it.
A woman in the crowd explained that a negro
was the slave of a planter.-
“ Or a Prussian, perhaps ? ” a man suggested.
“No ;