We had scarcely been out a quarter of an hour, when the most effeminate of the party said he was thirsty.  We now, doubtless, would have laughed at him, had we not all experienced the same sensation.

We all drank, for an ass loaded with refreshments followed us, but the relief afforded was of brief duration.  The thirst soon appeared with increased intensity, so that some fancied themselves sick, and others were becoming so, and all talked of returning.  To do so was to have travelled ten leagues for no purpose.

I had time to collect my ideas, and saw the reason of this strange thirst; and told them we suffered from the effects of three causes.  The dimunition of atmospheric pressure made our circulation more rapid.  The sun heated us, and walking had increased transpiration.  More than all these—­the wind dried up this transpiration, and prevented all moistness of the skin.

I told them that there was no danger, that the enemy was known, and that we must oppose it.

Precaution however was ineffectual, for their thirst was quenchless.  Water, wine and water, and brandy, all were powerless.  We suffered from thirst even while we drank, and were uncomfortable all day.

We got through the day, however; the owner of the domain of Latour entertaining us, joining the provisions we had, to his own stores.

We dined very well and got into the hay-loft, where we slept soundly.

The next day’s experience showed my theory to be true.  The wind lulled, the sun was not so warm, and we experienced no inconvenience from thirst.

But a great misfortune had befallen us.  We had very prudently filled our canteens, but they had not been able to resist the many assaults made on them.  They were bodies without souls, and we all fell into the hands of the cabaret-keepers.

We had to come to that point, not however without murmuring.  I addressed an allocution full of reproaches to the wind, when I saw a dish fit to be set before a king, “D’epinards a la graisse de cailles,” destined to be eaten with a wine scarcely as good as that of Surene. [Footnote:  A village two leagues from Paris, famous for its bad wine.  There is a proverb which says that to get rid of a glass of Surene, three things are needed, “a drinker and two men to hold him in case his courage fail.”  The same may be said of Perieux, which people however will drink.]

Meditation IX.

On drinks. [Footnote:  This chapter is purely philosophical:  a description of different kinds of wine does not enter into the plan I have marked out for myself.  If it was, I would never have finished my book.]

By drinks we mean all liquids which mingle with food.