whether they were applauding her or him.
Lima was hers, and never have I seen a fortnight so crowded with
incidents.

But Le Mire soon tired of it, as was to be expected. She greeted me
one morning at the breakfast table:

"My friend Paul, let us go to Cerro de Pasco. They have
silver--thousands and thousands of tons--and what you call them?
Ornaments."

"And then the Andes?" I suggested.

"Why not?"

"But, my dear Desiree, what shall we do with the yacht?"

"Pooh! There is the captain. Come--shall I say please?"

So we went to Cerro de Pasco. I wrote to Captain Harris, telling him
not to expect us for another month or so, and sending him sufficient
funds to last till our return.

I verily believe that every one of note in Lima came to the railroad
station to see us off.

Our compartment was a mass of flowers, which caused me to smile, for Le
Mire, curiously enough, did not like them. When we had passed out of
the city she threw them out of the window, laughing and making jokes at
the expense of the donors. She was in the best of humor.

We arrived at Oroya late in the afternoon, and departed for Cerro de
Pasco by rail on the following morning.

This ride of sixty-eight miles is unsurpassed in all the world.
Snow-capped peaks, bottomless precipices, huge masses of boulders that
seem ready to crush the train surround you on every side, and now and
then are directly above or beneath you.

Le Mire was profoundly impressed; indeed, I had not supposed her to
possess the sensibility she displayed; and as for me, I was most
grateful to her for having suggested the trip. You who find yourselves
too well-acquainted with the Rockies and the Alps and the Himalayas
should try the Andes. There is a surprise waiting for you.

But for the story.

We found Cerro de Pasco, interesting as its situation is, far short of
our expectations. It is a mining town, filled with laborers and
speculators, noisy, dirty, and coarse. We had been there less than
forty-eight hours when I declared to Harry and Le Mire my intention of
returning at once.

"But the Andes!" said Le Mire. "Shall we not see them?"

"Well--there they are."

I pointed through the window of the hotel.

"Bah! And you call yourself a traveler? Look! The snow! My friend
Paul, must I ask twice for a favor?"

Once again we tossed a coin.

Ah, if Le Mire had only seen the future! And yet--I often
wonder--would she have turned her back? For