I set him down as
a petty functionary of the place, and a _pensionnaire_ of the auberge.
All the time I was with him his mind was exceedingly restless as to my
intentions and business in those parts, and such explanations as I gave
him to appease his insatiable curiosity and awkwardly-veiled suspicion
evidently left him unsatisfied.
The next morning the hostess brought out her police register for me to
enter my name, nationality, age, profession, destination, etc. I had no
doubt that my acquaintance of the night before had reminded her of this
little formality in order that he might afterwards see what I had written.
All innkeepers in France are liable to a fine if they do not make every
traveller who passes the night with them leave this record of himself for
inspection, but the formality is much more often omitted than observed. I
have not been able to overcome my English dislike of the practice, which
is annoying and useless, like much more that belongs to the French
administrative system.
By daylight I found Neuvic to be a cheerful, pleasant little town, with
a venerable-looking old church, apparently of the twelfth century. It is
entered by a cavernous portal under a very massive low tower, but the
interior shows little of interest.
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