XVI 



THE BEMBEX 



Not far from Avignon, on the right bank of the 

 Rhone opposite the mouth of the Durance, is one 

 of my favourite points for the observations about to 

 be recorded. It is the Bois des Issarts. Let no one 

 deceive himself as to the value of the word " bois "- 

 wood, which usually gives the idea of a soil carpeted 

 with fresh moss and the shade of lofty trees, through 

 whose foliage filters a subdued light. Scorching 

 plains, where the cicada grinds out its song under 

 pale olives, know nothing of such delicious retreats 

 full of shade and coolness. 



The Bois des Issarts is composed of thin and 

 scattered groups of ilex, which hardly lessen the force 

 of the sun's rays. When I established myself during 

 the dog days in July and August, I used to settle 

 myself at some spot in the wood favourable for 

 observations. I took refuge under a great umbrella, 

 which later lent me most unexpected aid of another 

 kind, very valuable too, as my story will show in 

 good time. If I had neglected to equip myself with 

 this article, embarrassing enough in a long walk, the 

 only way to avoid sunstroke was to lie at full length 



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