“Dinner with Madame

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 382, 16 June 1928, Page 26

“Dinner with Madame

(Written for THE SUN.)

hi the following article RHONA HAZARD, a Christchurch artist who now lives in Egypt (and who was represented at the recent exhibition of the Auckland Art Society), describes one of the delightful culinary surprises that sometimes overtake tourists in out-of-the-way villages in France. The pen-drawing is also by this contributor. ■ ■ ri TAEL, WOODEN CROSS crowned the tree-circled knoll; blackberries stragover the rocks on i y.CfwaXTI which it stood; autumn dLdaSEfJK sunshine beat warm on the grass and a little wind lisped through the pine needles; that morning we had seen the cross in the far distance standing alone against the sky, and had cycled with the hope of eating our midday bread and cheese beneath its arms. The Montagne d’Arree rose before us with Commana perched on the top of a small hill of its own; the bleak unwooded sides glowed in the late yellow light, and then faded suddenly as the mists came down. This was Brittany, and yet we might have been riding towards our own tussocky foothills of New Zealand. For some distance we had pushed our steeds as the road rapidly steepened, and now as we c limbed the village street a chill I mountain wind swept down. Such a : bleak empty place it looked in the dusk; no children played before the floors of houses—no heavy carts lumb- j cred past—not even any trees were I there to set their leaves a-singing in j the vNind.

Four doors ahead we saw "Hotel des Voyageurs,” flapping to and fro on a decayed signboard. Madame herself came to the door. She was little and bent and half lost in her black shawl, but her coiffe crowned a wise old head, and her eyes smiled when she spoke. “We are very hungry,” I said when she’d told us her rooms were five francs. Jon repeated this still more firmly, grimly I might almost say, and asked what time could we dine. "Dans une heurc , Monsieur ’dame.” Upstairs to our large clean room; only five francs, about eleven pence. There were two enormous double beds end to end down one wall, and piled high with comforting courve-pieds; two tables, two mats, two windows; everything went in pairs; the floor’s plain boards were white with many scrubbings. The only discordant note was a modern jug and basin, blotched with brown and purple pansies—hideous and unwieldy—but Lucille poured in the hot water lovingly, vesting even its cheap china self with charm. The hour passed but. no summons came. Jon pulled in his belt and lent against the window-sill; lights twinked up out of the night. Half an hour more dragged on. Jon sighed for that last crust he had gobbled at noon. But at long, long last dinner was announced. The salle-a-manger was (Continued on Page 27.)