Towards the end of the month Mr. H——­ and his daughters moved on to Luchon, as their time was limited; and the last week saw the departure of Mrs. Willesden and Miss Leonards for England, whereat Bigorre was as tearful and miserable as a steady downpour could make it.  I had serious thoughts of moving on to Luchon for two or three days myself, and a driver who had brought two men thence over the Col d’Aspin, offered to take me back for twenty francs, but learning next day that there were five feet of snow on the Col, and that Luchon was wretchedly cold, I decided to wait till later on, a decision in no way regretted.

Although during the latter part of our stay the weather was agreeable, and the influence of spring manifest, I was not sorry when the day for moving forward arrived, and though Madame Cheval, when I broke the news to her over my solitary cup of coffee, looked as concerned as she could, and murmured something to the effect that “all her customers were going away,” yet with the assurance that some day soon a party of us would pay her a visit, she managed to smile again!

CHAPTER III.

LOURDES.

The Journey to Tarbes—­The Buffet and the Nigger—­Lourdes Station in the Wet—­Importunate “Cochers”—­Hotel des Pyrenees—­“Red tape” and Porters—­Lourdes in Sunshine—­Sightseeing—­The “Rue de la Grotte”—­“The Cry of the Lourdes Shopkeepers”—­Candle-sellers—­The Grotto—­Abject Reverence—­The Church—­St. Bernard—­Interior of Church—­The Panorama—­Admirable Effect—­Rue du Fort—­The Castle—­ The View from the Tower—­Pie de Mars, or Ringed Ousels.

The railway run from Bigorre to Lourdes is by no means a long one, the actual distance being only twenty-six and a quarter miles, and actual time in the train about one and a half hours, but the break at Tarbes considerably prolongs it.

The early morning had been wet, and showers continued till the afternoon, but the sun condescended to come out as the train wound slowly out of the station, and the lights and shades up the valley and hillsides were delightful.  Having the anticipatory pleasure of meeting Mrs. and Miss Blunt and Mr. Sydney again at Lourdes; and a lovely view of the beauties of spring when I looked out of the window, the time did not take long to pass.  One particularly pretty bit of meadow, trees, and stream led to the building of an airy castle, which the sudden appearance of the spires and roofs of Tarbes—­suggesting the return to bustle and the haunts of men—­soon banished, and the arrival in the station and the necessary change eradicated completely.

Thirty-five minutes to wait.  Too little to see the town, too much for twiddling one’s thumbs.  Then what?  Glorious inspiration!  The Buffet!  Capital; and into the Buffet I accordingly went.  Seated at a table, a nigger, slightly white about the finger tips, but otherwise quite genuine—­no Moore and Burgess menial—­appeared to do my bidding.  “What would Monsieur take?  Cafe?”—­“Oui.”  “Cafe noir ou cafe au lait?” I decided on taking the coffee with milk, adding that anything in the biscuit line would not be amiss, and away he went grinning.  He soon returned with cakes and coffee, and by dint of taking my time I had barely finished when it was time to start.