|It was half-past six o'clock on a summer's morning, and a deep-toned
bell in the cathedral sounded over the quaint gables of this really
Flemish city of Arras. Although we were in France, little difference
either in the people, costumes or architecture could be noted, so
mingled here were the characteristics of the French and the Belgians.
The sun was well up and gleamed hotly upon the old roof tops of the
town, old many of them in Shakespeare's day, and flooded with golden
light the quaint market place, now filled with swarming peasants. There
were great heaps of flowers here and there, among the booths containing
varied merchandise, and some of the market people were taking their
morning bowls of hot _café au lait_, made fresh in green and yellow
earthenware "biggins," over small iron braziers containing burning
charcoal. The odor was inviting, and as the people are always kindly
disposed towards the traveler who has _savoir faire_, one may enjoy
a fragrant and nourishing bowl with them in profitable and friendly
commune, for almost whatever he chooses to offer, and not rarely free
of any fee whatever save a "thank you," which is always received with
a gracious smile and a murmured "_N'pas d'quoi, M'sieu_," or an "_Au
plaisir_."
It was perchance a market morning in Arras, and the long open square
lined on either hand with strangely gabled Flemish houses, and closed at
the upper end by the admirable lofty towered Town Hall, was filling fast
with arrivals from the country round about.