he name implies.

A _mecanicien_ has not yet come to care for the automobilist in
trouble, but the locksmith _(serrurier)_ will do what he can and
charge you little for it. Gasoline is high-priced, fifty sous a
_bidon_.

Bayonne, with its tradition, its present-day prosperity, and its
altogether charming situation, awaited us twenty odd kilometres away,
and we descended upon its excellent, but badly named, Grand Hotel
just at nightfall. There's another more picturesquely named near by,
and no doubt as excellent, called the Panier-Fleuri. We would much
rather have stopped at the latter,--if only on account of its
name,--but there was no accommodation for the automobile. M.
Landlord, brace up!

Bayonne is a fortress of the first class, and commands the western
gateway into Spain. Its brilliant aspect, its cosmopolitanism, and
its storied past appealed to us more than did the attractions of its
more fastidious neighbour, Biarritz. One can see a better bull-fight
at Bayonne than he can at Biarritz, where his sport must consist
principally of those varieties of gambling games announced by
European hotel-keepers as having "all the diversions of Monte Carlo."
Bull-fighting is forbidden in France, but more or less mysteriously
it comes off now and then. We did not see anything of the sort at
Bayonne, but we had many times at Arles, and Nimes, and knew well
that when the southern Frenchman sets about to provide a gory
spectacle he can give it quite as rosy a hue as his Spanish brother.

Biarritz called us the next day, and, not wishing to be taken for
dukes, or millionaires, or _chauffeurs_ and their friends out on a
holiday, we left the automobile _en garage_, and covered the seven
kilometres by the humble tramway. Be wise, and don't take your
automobile to a resort like Biarritz unless you want to pay.

It's a long way from the Pont Saint-Esprit at Bayonne to the _plage_
at Biarritz, in manners and customs, at any rate, and the seeker
after real local colour will find more of it at Bayonne than he will
at its seaside neighbour, where all is tinged with Paris, St.
Petersburg, and London.

The Empress Eugenie, or perhaps Napoleon III., "made" Biarritz when
he built the first villa in the little Basque fishing-village, which
had hitherto known neither courts nor coronets. There's no doubt
about it; Biarritz is a fine resort of its class, as are Monte Carlo
and Ostende. One can study human nature at all three, if that is w