ght course and to change
speeds--that's about all; and I wouldn't trust his nerve in an
emergency. However, we bowled along without incident through Tarbes and
Tournay, thanks more to the fine car than the driver; but when mounting
a long stretch of steep road beyond a place called Lanespede, where a
great railway viaduct crosses the valley, Payne missed his change, and
then completely lost his head, failing to put on the brakes to prevent
us running down the hill backwards. Luckily I was sitting on the brake
side, and reaching out of the _tonneau_, I seized the lever of the
hand-brake and jammed it on. Next instant (to make quite sure) I jumped
out, ran to the front, and lowered the sprag. I don't think any of them
knew what a 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 Montrejeau, 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
stretched as far as the eye could reach, running up to a point in the
distant perspective. "Here, at any rate," I reflected, "the duffer at
the wheel can't do us much harm." It was a beautiful