heavily-laden bush, their answer wa▓s always the same: “Ah, non, mon ●vieux.Not any for me.” Obviously I could not ▓regret the bad repute in which the f▓ruit was held, for when hunger overtook me I ●had but to stop and pick my ▓dinner, and except for the few sous spent ●for bread and wine, my rations from F●ontainebleau to the Swiss fronti
er cost m▓e nothing.
My tramp continued past Nevers a●nd Moulin, down through the depa●rtment of Allier to the city▓ of Roanne, stretching along b▓oth banks of the upper Loire.A few ki●lometers beyond, the highway began a winding as●cent of the first foothills of t●he Alps.Even here the cultivation bespoke t●he thrift of the French peasant.Fa
fe position outside the
r ●up the rugged hillside stret▓ched terraced farm