Evening star., 1933-07-16


of course, controlled by the Syndicate
International des Sites Pittoresques
ct des Auberges de Province, sub
sidiary of Quaintness, Inc, but at the
time I mean it was still owned by
Auguste Boule and his wife, Julie.
Perched on the bank of a swift river in the
south of France, it could be reached only by a
miserable road practically unused since Hanni-
bal led his elephants from Spain to Italy. The
name Of the inn. according to local tradition,
commemorated the untimely end of one OF the
beasts
Auguste claimed that Hannibal himself had
stopped at the Auberge. If he did, Julie used
to say, he was the last person of any impor-
tance to do so. The fact was that the inn had
virtually no trade.
Auguste personally did not care. but he recog-
nized that it would have pleased his wife 1t
was her duty to keep the accounts. and after
dinner she would produce her book and read of
the totals for the fiscal day. The announce
ment she felt, lacked variety and Auguste
could not help agreeing with her. Guests
none receipts-none, net profits-none"
After ALL" she used to say, AN inn without
guests What is it? garden without flowers.
. library without books, Or"
"Or dog without feas," her husband would
reply. why should we have guests? Does any
one ever travel this road? No. Alors!'
Il am thinking of Leon" she said pensively.
sIeon friend. Leon was a success Leon
had seaside hotel and wore Panama hat all
nave
on main road with motor busses stopping for
lunch and American tourists forcing money
on u.s."
A UGUSTE shuddered and diverted the con-
u versaton. In the first place." he said, "it
is not true to say that we never have any
guests Remember M. Sneedair?'
This Mr. Snyder was his trump card.
American who had arrived on foot three years
before had stayed for dinner and whose eccen-
tricties had furnished material for endless
speculation.
He gave me two francs tip" said Claude.
the waiter, at this point Claude had waited on
him. and still had the 2-franc piece to cor
roborate his story.
Listen to me-" said his wife. Leon is COM
ing to see us day after tomorrow He Is getting
old the sea air is bad for him, and I think he
might be persuaded to exchange his hotel for
our little place here"
Never" Auguste cried Il will never con-
sent to it,
what about me?" asked his wife Must my
best years be spent in hole like this inhabited
only by hoot owls?" She burst into tears.
Auguste rose to comfort her, but Claude pro-
vided a welcome diversion "A car is approach
ing he said quietly. 1T is about to stop"
Julie hastily wiped away her tears. ITO the
kitchen, at once"
"Bah" said her husband "As usual, some
= one who has lost his way"
Claude vent down to the courtyard and re-
turned highly excited. "An American" he an
nounced. He wishes dinner!'
In the kitchen when Auguste had put on his
chefs cap, and was fddling with the hors
d'oeuvres, Claude reported further. Imagine,
M Boule! 1t is friend Of M Sneedair who
sent him to u.s.
The proprietor raised his eyebrows. did you
recommend the Cassoulet? Fortunately, 1t Is
superb"
He looked at the pot with somber pride. HE
will taste a masterpiece. The human mind,
Claude, cannot conceive a more correct prep
aration of that magnificent dish"
II agree" said Claude, "but he does not want
Cassouet" Claude hesitated HE wants
ham,"
"And eggs!" Auguste screamed
~I am sorry" said Claude. "but he does
With solemn gesture the chef removed his
cap go tell this man that he is after all.
only customer. He will eat Cassoulet or he
will starve"
CLAUDE went back into the dining room
~ and Aug,lste watched through crack in
the door. The American, gray-haired man
in a golf suit, could not speak French, and
Claude had no English.
Auguste saw the foreigner mold little shapes
with his empty hands, cackling like hen.
Claude feigned not to understand. The Amer
lean made more eggs and then got down on his
!. hands and knees roofing III an imaginary pen.
Sv.lir oto1ft ftno h0