"
"That is an odd name for a hotel," said I.
"You see, Monsieur, it was made famous because of the _dejeuner_ which
Napoleon took there on his march with his army of 30,000 across the
Pass in the month of May, 1800, and that is the reason of the name.
The madame who has the house now, is a grand-daughter of the innkeeper
of that day; and she will show you the room where Napoleon
breakfasted, with all the furniture just as it was then, and on the
wall the portraits of her grand-parents, who waited on the great man."
"At all events, we will rest and have something to eat there," I said.
"Then, if it be not too late, we might push on further. I like the
idea of the lonely Cantine de Proz."
My opinion of the Pass was changing for the better, before we reached
the straggling town of stony pavements, which could not have a more
appropriate patron than St. Pierre. True, our road was always narrow,
and poorly kept for a great mountain highway; so far, none of the
magnificent engineering which impressed one on the Simplon. But here
and there dazzling white peaks glistened like frozen tidal waves
against the blue, and the Dranse had a particular charm of its own.
Joseph said little when I patronised the Pass with a few grudging
words of commendation. He had the secretive smile of a man who hides
something up his sleeve.
It was five o'clock when we arrived at Bourg St.
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