276 THE SPORTSMAN IN FRANCE. 



A long, steep, and sandy road winds 

 down to the river, over which a beautiful 

 and curiously-formed bridge connects the 

 straggling cottages, or, I should say, 

 rather, forms a communication for the 

 inhabitants. On the opposite side is the 

 toll-house and residence of the person 

 who rents the bridge from the govern- 

 ment. 



The occupant, at the time I write of, 

 was a comely widow, who, with some of 

 her relatives, was on the look-out for us ; 

 we were most cordially welcomed by the 

 fair hostess, especially the major, who 

 evidently stood high in her good graces. 

 Here were our head-quarters, and most 

 comfortably were we housed. 



Before our commanding-officer would 

 permit us to put our rods together, he 

 paraded us on the bridge, and directing 

 our attention to several deep pools formed 

 under some projecting and shelving rocks, 

 we beheld hundreds upon hundreds of 



