But this I know, that as night was falling my carriage halted with a lurch, and as I put forth my head I was confronted by my trembling intendant, his great fat face gleaming whitely in the gloom above the lawn collar on his doublet.
"Why do we halt, Ganymede ?" quoth I.
"Monseigneur," he faltered, his trembling increasing as he spoke, and his eyes meeting mine in a look of pitiful contrition, "I fear we are lost." "Lost ?" I echoed.

"Of what do you talk?
Am I to sleep in the coach ?" "Alas, monseigneur, I have done my best--" "Why, then, God keep us from your worst," I snapped.

"Open me this door." I stepped down and looked about me, and, by my faith, a more desolate spot to lose us in my henchman could not have contrived had he been at pains to do so.

A bleak, barren landscape--such as I could hardly have credited was to be found in all that fair province--unfolded itself, looking now more bleak, perhaps, by virtue of the dim evening mist that hovered over it.

Yonder, to the right, a dull russet patch of sky marked the west, and then in front of us I made out the hazy outline of the Pyrenees.