Onwards again under the very shadow of the Sierra de
Prades, rising in clear undulating outlines against the blue sky; a
stately, magnificent chain of hills. Where indeed do we find such
beautiful and graceful hills as in Spain?

Finally Espluga, the station for Poblet. Here Francisco alighted at
express speed, basket in hand. We followed more leisurely, trembling for
the Laffitte, but the boy was equal to the occasion. In spite of
enthusiasm, he had an old head upon his young shoulders, and even now
would have been almost equal to managing the hotel single-handed.

No sooner out than we were besieged by a man and a woman; the latter
begging us to take her donkeys, the former praising his comfortable
carriage. Discretion and the carriage won the day. A long donkey-ride
over a rough country did not sound enticing. As it turned out we chose
badly.

Poblet was some miles from Espluga, and we had to pass through the town
on our way to the said carriage. It had been taken on trust, neither
carriage nor donkeys being at the station.

The town lies at the foot of a towering hill. From the station you cross
over a picturesque stone bridge dark with age, spanning the rushing
river. Standing on the bridge you look down upon a romantic ravine and
valley, through which the river winds its course. On the further side
you enter the town: a primitive out-of-the-world spot, as though it had
made no progress in the last hundred years. The people correspond with
their surroundings. The streets were narrow and irregular, and the
virtue of cleanliness was nowhere conspicuous. Our landlord had well
said that if we did not take our luncheon with us, we should take it
with Duke Humphrey.

Nevertheless, there was that in Espluga which redeemed some of its
disadvantages. Groups of houses with picturesque roofs and latticed
windows: houses built without any attempt at beauty, yet beautiful
because they belonged to a long-past age when men knew nothing of
ugliness and bad taste. No one had thought it worth while to pull down
these old nooks and remains and rebuild greater, or even adorn them with
fresh paint. Consequently we saw them arrayed in all their early charm.
It seemed a very sleepy town, with little life and energy. People plied
their quiet trades. Everything was apparently dying of inanition.

Our donkey-woman was an exception: comely and wonderfully good-tempered,
with a surprising amount of energy. Not having succeeded in hiring