CHAPTER xix

IT was early in July when Anatole Kahn made his ,
first appearance in the town of Saint Loup —
a stout middle-aged man with a waxed moustache,
whose dark business suit suggested the north, and
whose interest was so great in all he beheld that it
led him to ask innumerable questions. He was
friendly, urbane, and apparently prosperous, to judge
by the wine which he ordered at la Tarasque — vin-
tage wine, as Mere Melanie afterwards confided to
her cronies; yes indeed, the best in the cellar.
The townsfolk were willing enough to talk, rather
flattered and amused by the admiration which this
stranger expressed for their mountains, their sea,
their vineyards, their houses, and their tortuous
byways. Thus it was that quite soon he was able to
collect a fine packet of practical information. Among
other things which he managed to learn was the fact
that you could not furnish a house save by putting
yourself to the trouble of a journey. You must go to
Marseille for your tables and chairs unless you employed
Jouse Benedit who, it seemed, was a very remarkable
fellow. A carpenter he was, and a cabinet-maker,
managing to ply both trades with great skill; but
then Benedit was the sort of man who was clever at
anything he turned his hand to — at a pinch he might
even build you a house — ah, yes, a very remarkable
fellow. But slow . . . perhaps he was over conscien-
tious. He was certainly imbued with the pride of his
230