It was
absurd to see this hot little man sign himself 'Dugravel, _glacier_,'
that being the style of his profession, naturally recalling the
contradictory conduct of the Latin noun _lucus_.
The bones of S. Francis of Sales lie in the church of S. Francois in
Annecy, and I made a pilgrimage in search of them through very
unpleasant streets. After a time, the Italian west front of the church
appeared; but the main door led into a demonstrative bakery, and the
door of the north aisle was obscured by oleanders and a striped awning,
and over it appeared the legend, '_Entree de l'Hotel_.' As a man
politely explained, they had built S. Francis another church, and
utilised the old one. The town itself seemed to be of the squalid style
of antiquity--old, no doubt, but very dirty. It is pervaded by streams,
which crop up among the houses, and flow through dark alleys and vaulted
passages, rarely coming into daylight, and suggesting all manner of dark
crimes. The red-legged French kettledrums are, if possible, more
insolent here than in other places, and it is evident that the dogs are
not yet reconciled to the annexation, for the guard swept through the
streets amid a perfect tornado of howls from the negligent scavengers of
the place.
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