,
ninety-six kilometres away. The road-books say of this route;

"_Pl. Roul. puis Ond Tr. Pitt._" This freely translated means that
the road is at first flat, then rolling and hilly, but very
picturesque throughout. Castlemaudry delayed us not a moment, except
to extricate ourselves from a troop of unbridled, unhaltered little
donkeys being driven to the market-place, where there was a great
sale of these gentle little beasts of burden. _Pas mechant_, these
little donkeys, but stubborn, like their brethren elsewhere, and it
was exceedingly difficult to force our way through two hundred of
them, all of whom wiggled their ears at us and stood their ground
until their guardians actually came and pushed them to one side. "You
can often push a donkey when you can't pull him," they told us, a
fact which was most apparent, though unknown to us previously. We
arrived at Carcassonne in time for lunch, which we had always
supposed was called _dejeuner_ in France, but which we learned was
here called _diner_, the evening meal (at the fashionable hour of
eight) being known as _souper_, though in reality it is a five-course
dinner.

Carcassonne was a disappointment. Imagine a puffed-up little
metropolis of twenty-five thousand souls with all the dignity that
half a dozen pretentious hotels and gaudy cafes can give it; not very
clean, nor very well laid out, nor very ancient-looking, nor very
picturesque. Where was the Carcassonne of the frowning ramparts, of
the gem of a Gothic church, and of the romance and history of which
all school-books are filled?

"Oh! You mean _la Cite,_" said the buxom hostess of our hotel. (They
are always buxom hostesses in books, but this was one in reality.)
Well, yes, we did mean _la Cite_, if by that name the referred to the
old walled town of Carcasonne, _la ville la plus curieuse de France,
un monument unique au mond._

It is but a short kilometre to reach _la Cite_ from the _Ville
Basse_, as the modern city of Carcassonne is known. Once within the
double row of walls, flanked by more than fifty towers, any
preconceived ideas that one may have had of what it might be like
will be dispelled in air. It is the most stupendously theatrical
thing yet on top of earth, unless it be the sad and dismal Pompeii or
poor rent Les Baux, in Provence.

The history of this wonder-work cannot be compressed into a few
lines. One can merely emphasize its marvellous attractions, so that
those who are in the nei