narrow escape we'd had, and Payne covered himself by abusing the car. We started up again on the second, and came out on an undulating plain overlooking a little watering-place called Capvern-les-Bains, lying far below in a dimple of the Pyrenean foothills.
There was no other incident till we came to Montréjeau, where my road-book showed that there was an uncommonly steep hill. So I ventured to say over Payne's shoulder, "Better look out here, sir; a bad hill." The cad had not the civility to notice my warning, but charged through the long street of the town till he came to the verge of a dangerous descent, dipping steeply and suddenly for a little way, then turning abruptly to the left. He was taking the hill at a reckless pace, not because he was plucky, but because he knew no better; and half-way down, seeing a lumbering station-omnibus climbing slowly up, not leaving much room, he began to get wild in his steering. Again I hung out, and gently but firmly put on the hand-brake, steadying the car. The idiot didn't even see how I had saved him, for when we got safely down he said to Miss Randolph, "Took that hill flying, didn't I?" I can tell you I was glad when we pulled up for luncheon at St. Gaudens, knowing that the road here turns away from the Pyrenees to cross the great plain of Languedoc.
Blessed plain of Languedoc, which has been abused by some travellers for its monotony! Sitting silently in the tonneau with Aunt Mary, I revelled in the long, straight level of wide, poplar-fringed road that
