Note 1 — Chapter XIII · THE OLD WEEVILS

This bit of silver, flattened by the blow of the punch, talks to me of the Vocontii:1 “VOOC … VOCVNT,” says the inscription. It comes from the little neighbouring town of Vaison, where Pliny the Naturalist sometimes went to spend a holiday. Here, perhaps, at the table of his host, the celebrated compiler, he learnt to appreciate the beccafico, famous among the epicures of Rome and still renowned to-day, under the name of grasset, among our Provençal gastronomers. It is a shame that my bit of silver says nothing of these events, more memorable than a battle.