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It is a fact, not universally known, that after Paris, Montreal is the largest French-speaking city in the world. It is also the capital of a French-language province, Quebec, which is eight times the size of France. You have only to look at the city's history to discover the cause of this significant French influence. The first European to sail up the St Lawrence River and reach the site of the present city in 1535 was the French navigator Jacques Cartier; the French explorer Samuel de Champlain established a strategically-positioned trading post here in 1611; and in 1642 a permanent settlement called Ville Marie was founded by Paul de Chomedey. While the British were fighting off the Spanish Armada, the French were sailing the Atlantic and setting the rest of Europe a colonial example of which few people today seem to be aware. In the annals of exploration and colonisation it is always the British, the Dutch, the Spanish and the Portuguese who fill the history books with their exploits. But the French?

More than 300 years after the birth of the original settlement, Montreal has grown into a major city admirably equipped with all the necessary accessories: the obligatory downtown business district, its financial pre-eminence based on oil and petrochemical industries, brewing and meat-packing; the requisite historic quarter, the seventeenth-century Vieux Montreal where the first settlers came ashore; not to mention the university, art galleries, museums, hotels and restaurants that every self-respecting capital must lay claim to. The difference is that wherever you go in this island city, the French influence is as strong as the scent of freshly baked baguettes.

Not only do Montrealers speak French, with a wonderfully slow patois drawl; they also enjoy a surprisingly convincing Left Bank lifestyle. Here are cobblestoned rues and terrasses, jardins and boulevards, bistros, bars and boites a chanson, sidewalk cafes, charcuteries and croissanteries, a Palais de Justice, an Hotel de Ville, French-language theatre productions and a Place des Arts, home of the acclaimed Montreal Symphony Orchestra. There is even a Latin Quarter and, of course, a Metro.

Only 45 minutes from downtown Montreal, the Hotel L'Eau a la Bouche is as French as could be, though French with a distinctly alpine air. Its weathered wood-shingle walls, brick chimneys and prettily striped canopied windows are set amid the maple, birch and pine clad slopes of the Laurentian mountains. Owned by Pierre Audette and chef de cuisine Anne Desjardins, L'Eau a la Bouche has long been a favourite getaway for weekending Montrealers. It's also a valuable insider tip for foreign visitors who finally tire of the split-level city that has as much below ground - a weatherproof subterranean version to counter winter's deep freeze - as it does above ground.

With only 25 rooms, each with a sunny terrace, luxurious bathroom and fireplace, and only as many minutes from some of the province's best-dressed ski slopes and golf courses, even L'Eau a la Bouche regulars set a premium on advance booking. If you're looking for an incomparable country retreat with planked floors and roaring fires, alpine and cross-country skiing, sailing, riding and golf - and some of the region's finest French cuisine - you would do well to preempt their example and reach for the telephone first.

Another equally enviable hideaway is the Hostellerie Les Trois Tilleuls on the banks of the Richelieu River near the town of St Marc-sur-Richelieu. (It would be difficult to sound more French if you tried). Here, proprietaire Michel Aubriot has transformed a century-old family home complete with creaking floorboards, painted wood ceilings and elegantly-chimnied wood-burning stoves, into a delightful riverside retreat with 24 rooms, carefully-tended gardens, an outdoor swimming pool, two tennis courts and its own small marina. Like L'Eau a la Bouche, Aubriot's Hostellerie is well-placed for all manner of winter sports - alpine and cross country skiing, snowshoeing and sleigh rides - but will also arrange golf, theatre and country getaway packages for those so inclined. The hotel also offers a special Hunter's Package that provides guests with an opportunity to shoot pheasant on the nearby Ile aux Cerfs. There is no limit to the number of birds bagged but, as the hotel is at pains to point out, semi-automatic weapons are definitely not allowed (nor are they altogether sportsmanlike).

Almost within beret-throwing distance of the American border is Auberge Hatley, a pleasing, turn-of-the-century confection of filigreed gingerbread gables, flower-basketed verandahs and soothing pastel shades all set on a rise overlooking Lake Massawippi - known as "deep waters" to the old Abenaki Indians who once lived here.

The Auberge takes its name from the historic village of North Hatley, which was initially settled by British Loyalists after the American Declaration of Independence in 1776. Then, a century or so later, it was generously patronised by wealthy Southerners who foreswore the pleasures of holidaying in New England after their defeat by the Union in the American Civil War. It is said that many of these Southerners would pull down the blinds in their railway carriages when they reached the Union states and only open them when they crossed the border into Canada.

Built in 1903 as a summer home for one such Southern family, the Auberge Hatley is now owned by Liliane and Robert Gagnon. Its 24 colonial-style bedrooms delightfully furnished with four poster beds, fireplaces and period antiques, and its public rooms plumply comfortable with beamed ceilings, old brick hearths and original works of art.

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