slender
tresses of water plunge from a dizzy height, lose by the way their
symmetry, presently vanish into sparkling smoke; cascades, with a
delicate flourish, leap from ledge to ledge; stout heads of crystal
well bubbling out of Earth; elegant springs flash musically into their
brimming basins of the living rock. The mistress of this shining court
is very beautiful. A bank is overhanging a little bow-shaped dell, as
the eaves of an old house lean out to shelter half a pavement. As
eaves, too, are thatched, so the brown bank is clad with emerald moss.
From the edge of the moss dangles a silver fringe. Each gleaming,
twisted cord of it hangs separate and distinct, save when a breath of
wind plaits two or three into a transient tassel. The fringe is the
waterfall.

Enchanted with such a fairyland, we lingered so long over our passage
that we only reached Gavarnie with a handful of moments to spare.

As we had expected, here were the others, a little apart from the car,
their eyes lifted to the ethereal terraces of the majestic Cirque.

The East was afire with splendour. All the blue dome of sky was
blushing. Only the Earth was dull.

Suddenly the topmost turret of the frozen battlements burst into rosy
flame....

One by tremendous one we saw the high places of the world suffer their
King's salute. Little wonder that, witnessing so sublime a ceremony,
we forgot all Time....

The sudden clack of shutters flung back against a wall brought us to
earth with a jar.

We turned in the direction of the noise.

From the window of a cottage some seventy paces away a woman was
regarding us steadily....

We re-entered the cars with more precipitation than dignity.

A glance at the clock in the dashboard made my heart sink.

A quarter past six--summer time.

It was clear that Gavarnie was lazy. Argeles, Lourdes, and the rest
must be already bustling. Long ere we could reach Pau, the business of
town and country would be in full swing....

The same reflection, I imagine, had bitten Jonah, for, as I let in the
clutch, Ping swept past us and whipped into the village with a low
snarl.

Fast as we went, we never saw him again that memorable morning. Jonah
must have gone like the wind.

As for us, we wasted no time.

We leapt through the village, dropped down the curling pass, snarled
through Saint-Sauveur, left Luz staring, and sailed into Argeles as it
was striking seven.

From Argeles to Lourdes is over