A DAY IN THE COUNTRY

BANNEGON, France —  After doing Paris’ museums, tripping out to Versailles and Fontainebleau and running the cholesterol level to the danger point at Taillevent and other three-star restaurants, one needn’t despair.

Alors , Jacques Condore stands ready to rescue victims of the tourist blahs.

Condore, a saintly sort, zeros in on weary travelers who, by now, appear uncertain whether they’re in Tours or Toulouse, and don’t really give a hoot. It’s how confused they’ve become after blitzing across Europe. Simply said, Condore operates what’s unofficially described as a halfway house for travelers who overdose on tourism.

Like some country squire, Condore leads the weary off to the boonies to listen to roosters crow, hear a calf bawl and to rejoice as birds twitter in the poplars and pines that surround this obscure little village south of Paris.

Devoid of cares and cars, Bannegon is barely a needle mark on the map of France. Still, in the spirit of accuracy, an occasional Renault does huff by. But only rarely. For the most part, Bannegon is as peaceful as the evening moon glow.

Bicycling through town the other afternoon, it took me precisely one minute, 45 seconds to enter and leave--signpost to signpost--which should tell you something about the size of this French country village with its two cafes, one bakery, a church and little else.

In Bannegon one breathes unpolluted air and inhales the fragrance of roses that bloom in profusion around Jacques Condore’s enchanting little inn. His auberge , an ancient mill, is a peaceful sanctuary for guests whose spirits sag after one of those whirlwind jaunts across the Continent. Or, for that matter, anyone else seeking a bit of solitude.

After several days at this quaint inn, the weary take their leave, rested and refreshed. Indeed, Condore sends his guests off feeling as if they’d been no farther from home than Arrowhead--or possibly the beach at Malibu.

This precise promise is extracted from other entrepreneurs with other ageless mills across France whose charming country inns represent one of Gaul’s newest travel attractions.

Only six millers banded together in the beginning. Then last year the chain grew to 18 and this year more than two dozen members will be welcoming guests--as far north as Lumbres, south to the Dordogne, west to Brittany and east into Alsace.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The invitation from Jacques Condore to visit Auberge du Moulin de Chameron arrived several months ago:

I want to introduce you to a small chain of hotels and romantic old inns all over France. My own mill is 150 miles south of Paris and 50 miles south of the Chateaux de la Loire on a road called Jacques Coeur.

It was appealing, this idea of resting the frame in an ancient mill which by Condore’s reckoning is well over two centuries old. When I telephoned Condore from Paris he volunteered to meet my train in the village of Saint Amand Montrand (barely three hours by rail from the French capital). At the station I spotted Condore, a big friendly man with an undisguised affection for Americans.

During the 13-mile drive from Saint Amand Montrand to the inn at Bannegon, Condore filled me in on his career: Born in Bannegon, he’d come full circle. That is to say, he’d sailed as a lad on the old French liner Liberte; later he worked in hotels and restaurants in England and Belgium as well as France. In the ‘50s, during a stint as a chauffeur-guide in Paris, he met his wife, Annie, along with a host of celebrities (Alfred Hitchcock, Gary Cooper, Grace Kelly, ad infinitum).

In the ‘60s the Condores traveled across America by bus during a period when Greyhound was promoting one of those “99 days for $99” deals. Running short of cash in Palm Springs, Condore hired on as the manager of a hotel in the desert spa. A year later he and Annie flipped a coin; it came up heads and they wound up in San Francisco where patrons of the renowned Jack’s restaurant still recall Jacques Condore as the popular (and sorely missed) manager, a position he held for seven years.

Later when a family tragedy drew Jacques and Annie back to France, they bought their old mill, converted it into a restaurant/inn and put out their shingle. Few cars pass and the nearest good-size town is a dozen miles away.

Jacques shrugs. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Well, not exactly. Travelers are attracted to nearly a dozen chateaux within a radius of 40 miles, and Bourges with its celebrated cathedral is barely an hour by car. Besides, Auberge du Moulin de Chameron is a dream. Yes, worth every moment of the trip down from Paris.

Picture this old mill with ivy climbing its ancient walls and lilacs and geraniums scattered across a garden blooming beneath leafy poplars and plum trees. In the background, benches face a pond that’s fed by a river flowing barely a few yards away. (The only concession to commercialism is a swimming pool dug in a cow pasture a couple of hundred yards away.)

It is a scene straight out of a Renoir painting: On sunny days guests dine in the garden beneath a striped canopy while carp splash in the pond and an old hound (Milou) snoozes at their feet. The mill wheel brings to mind something Monet might have put his brush to.

In summertime ducks paddle across the pond while breezes carry the heady fragrance of new-mown hay to the old mill whose three-foot walls provide insulation against the heat. It is here that guests dine of an evening in two small rooms with classical music, beam ceilings, a fireplace, a scattering of tables, ancient lamps, bowls of fresh-picked flowers and antiques the Condores have gathered at auctions across France.

There are, in addition, family heirlooms, including the old grandfather clock bought by Condore’s grandparents for their wedding nearly a century ago. Penciled inside is the date: Nov. 23, 1896.

During the cocktail hour at Auberge du Moulin de Chameron guests repair to a cozy loft upstairs with sofas, a piano and a chess set that’s displayed on an antique table.

When the Condores opened their inn, Jacques served as his own chef. Later these duties were passed on to a son-in-law. Meanwhile, the old mill had earned two red forks from the Michelin people and there are guests who insist a second survey is in order--that the kitchen deserves a star. One at the very least.

Vegetables are served garden fresh at Auberge du Moulin de Chameron and the meats and other products are gathered daily from nearby farms. On a recent evening the menu featured a puff pastry filled with leek prepared in a cream sauce with a touch of fresh mint.

Charolais beef is a big item at Moulin de Chameron, along with lamb that is flavored in a garlic sauce. Other items range from homemade foie gras to a salad featuring lobster with bits of fennel or lamb brains and pine nuts.

During the busy tourist season Condore is up by 5 o’clock to make his rounds of farms and village markets that spring up across the verdant countryside. While Condore is away his chef turns out breads, pastries and croissants. Jams and jellies are kitchen fresh from the harvest of plums, strawberries, gooseberries and raspberries gathered in the garden. The kitchen prepares fresh ice cream and sorbets as well, and when the dessert cart is wheeled to one’s table the guest is urged to “sample everything.”

Guest rooms at Moulin de Chameron are immaculately clean. And because the inn is a member of the Relais du Silence group, quiet is assured (there are no TVs).

Annie Condore takes guests through a little museum she has created at the mill, displaying scythes, sickles and other implements relating to the harvest and grinding of grain.

It is this diminutive member of the Condore team who is busy recruiting other mill owners into the association. One member near the Swiss border operates a 13th-Century inn dead center of a meadow where guests are awakened by cowbells and the surrounding mountains are reflected in one of those picture-post card ponds France is famous for.

Sixty miles southwest of Paris--near Fontainebleau--the Schidecker family welcomes guests at the association’s oldest mill, Moulin de Flagy (circa 1260), and in the little village of Avrille, northwest of Angers in the Loire Valley, the Hues family has the distinction of operating the only windmill belonging to the association.

West of Paris on the road to Brittany, a 300-year-old mill called Le Vieux Moulin provides its own electricity from a wheel still churning in the river. And on the route to Strasbourg a couple of sisters do the honors at Moulin de la Wantzenau, a mill that dates from 1608 and that served as headquarters for French freedom fighters during World War II.

Each member mill is different, with ratings of one to four stars. Take your pick: water mills, tide mills or the old windmill in the Loire Valley.

So the next time friends tell you about the slick hotels where they slept while touring Europe, just yawn and toss in the line about the old mill with the pond and the lilacs and the fragrance of new-mown hay.

Rates at Jacques and Annie Condore’s Auberge du Moulin de Chameron: $22/$35 a day plus 25 francs for breakfast. Dinner and wine are extra.

For a brochure with pictures, maps and addresses of each inn belonging to the association, send $2 or three international postal coupons to the Condores at Auberge du Moulin de Chameron, Bannegon 18210, Charenton du Cher, France, or telephone (48) 60-75-80.

Note: Prices in this article are subject to change due to inflation and the fluctuation of the dollar.