There is
evidently money for everything, and the cure of Maiche must be a happy
person, contrasting his position favorably with that of his fellow-cures
in the Protestant villages around Montbeliard. The down-hill drive from
our airy eminence amid the pine-forests was even more striking than our
ascent two days before; and we naturally got over the ground in less
than half the time. It is a pity such delightful scenery as this should
not be made more accessible to travellers by a first rate inn. There are
several hotels at Maiche, also at St. Hippolyte and Pont de Roide, but
they are adapted rather to the wants of the _commis-voyageur_ than the
tourist. Yet there is a friendliness, a bonhomie, and disinterestedness
about the hotel-keepers, which would soon disappear were Franche Comte
turned into a little Switzerland. At the table-d'hote dinner, the master
of the house always presides and looks after the guests, waiters there
are none; sometimes the plates are changed by the landlady, who also
superintends the kitchen, sometimes by the landlord, sometimes by a
guest, and shortcomings are always made up for by general geniality.
Everyone knows everyone, and the dinner is a meeting of old friends.
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