The character of the world in which Agay was located was delicious. After the raw and cold of our last few days in Paris this satin atmosphere of moonlight and perfume was wonderful. We stepped out of a train at the little beach station of this summer coast to find the trees in full leaf and great palms extending their wide fronds into the warm air. There was much chatter in French while the cabby struggled to get all our numerous bags into one vehicle; but when it was all accomplished and the top lowered so that we could see the night, we set forth along a long white road between houses which had anything but a French aspect, being a showy development of things Spanish and Moorish, and past bright whitewashed walls of stone, over which wide-leaved palms leaned. It was wonderful to see the moonlight on the water, the bluish black waves breaking in white ripples on sandy shores, and to feel the wind of the South. I could not believe that a ten-hour ride from Paris would make so great a change; but so it was. We clattered up finally to the Grand Hôtel d’Agay; and although it possessed so fine a name it was nothing much more than a country inn--comparatively new and solidly built, with a charming vine-covered balcony overlooking the sea, and a garden of palms in which one might walk. However, the food, Barfleur assured us, would be passable. It was only three stories high and quite primitive in its appointments. We were lighted to our rooms with candles, but the rooms were large and cool, and the windows, I discovered by throwing mine open, commanded a magnificent view of the bay. I stood by my window transfixed by the beauty of the night. Not in France outside this coast--nor in England--can you see anything like this in summer. The air was like a caress. Under the white moon you could see the main outlines of the coast and the white strip of sand at the bottom. Below us, anchored near the garden, were some boats, and to the right white houses sheltered in trees and commanding the wonders of the water. I went to bed breathing a sigh of relief and feeling as if I should sleep soundly--which I did.
The next morning revealed a world if anything more wonderful. Now all the whiteness and the brownness and the sharpness of the coast line were picked out by a brilliant sun. The bay glittered in the light, a rich indigo blue; and a fisherman putting forth to sea hoisted a golden sail. I was astonished to find now that the houses instead of being the drab and white of northern France were as like to be blue or yellow or green--and always there was a touch of color somewhere, blue window-sills ornamenting a white house, brown chimneys contrasting with a blue one, the charm of the Moorish arch and the Moorish lattice suggesting itself at different points--and always palms. I dressed and went below and out upon the balcony and through the garden to the water’s edge, sitting in the warm sun and tossing pebbles into the water. Flowers were in bloom here--blue and yellow blossoms--and when Barfleur came down we took a delightful morning walk up a green valley which led inland between hills. No northern day in June could have rivaled in perfection the wonder of this day; and we talked of the stagey make-believe of Parisian night-life as contrasted with this, and the wonder of spring generally.