his animated scene we
had to drive at a foot-pace, tootling on the horn. On the other side of
the long village we found ourselves on a wide, level road, that for
smoothness would shame a billiard-table, crossed the green Canal du
Midi, and ran for a while by its side, passing a queer obelisk erected
to Riquet, its constructor.

Suddenly, on mounting a hill, an enormous view spread out before us. The
distant Pyrenees showed their serrated line far away to the right,
their snowy tops spectral over an intervening range of hills; to the
left stretched a vast, undulating tract of country, with towns and
church spires distinctly outlined in the clear, crisp air--for it was a
day of glorious lights. Beyond all was a range of vague, blue hills
which I knew to be the Cevennes, sacred to the memory of Robert Louis
Stevenson.

We sped through village after village--a long street; children in
blouses playing strange games, disputing in shrill voices, wagging
little eloquent fingers under each other's noses; handsome men clothed
in blue, with red sashes and the universal _berret_ on their heads,
guiding with their cruel goads patient teams of yoked oxen; a group of
persons round a church door--a wedding, perhaps a funeral; old women
knitting in the sun, young women smiling from windows--all these
impressions follow each other like flickering pictures in a
cinematograph; and then with the last flicker one is out again on the
broad, white road, with the flying trees spinning by on either hand, and
the white, filmy clouds floating in an azure sky. It is only on the
motor-car that you get all these sensations. In a train you are in a
box; on a motor you are in a chariot of fire with the wide heavens open
above you.

At Castelnaudary there was another scene of animation, for here also it
was market day; and though it was only twenty miles or so on to
Carcassonne (our intended destination), my betters decided that they
would take luncheon at the hotel in Castelnaudary. For the first time
since Payne has been with us Miss Randolph seemed to wish to restore me
to my old, lost footing. "You must lunch with us, Brown," she said, with
a smile that goes straight to one's heart. But I was not in a gracious
mood. I had had enough of Aunt Mary; I could not stand the haughty
Payne. I answered, therefore, rather shortly. There were certain
adjustments to be done on the car which would occupy some time, I said,
and I would take my luncheon later.