with paper, acting as doors and windows.] lying on the neat but hard—­very hard—­mats, that were our tables, chairs, and beds in one; which our host’s assurance, that the Mikado himself had slept upon them the year previous, didn’t make any softer.  The announcement of dinner cut short further musings, and we took our places at the table, profusely adorned with evidences of the previous day’s ceremony.

At a table-d’hote of eight or ten people conversation is as a rule easy and general.  It requires a so-called “typical Englishman” to keep himself within himself, in a shroud of pride and reserve, and the “typical Englishman” is, thank goodness, nearly out of date.  We were very anxious to learn about the plateau above Gabas.  Was this plateau really worth seeing; and if so, when was it best to start?  Everybody was ready to give their version of the trip, but Mr. and Mrs. Tubbins (if we recollect rightly) seemed the most anxious to speak.  Mrs. T. was simply a combination of bolsters which shook with the exertion of speech, while poor Mr. T., a meek, thin, haggard-looking man—­and no wonder—­seemed to be ready to put in a word if required, but looked in momentary terror of getting a snub instead.

This look was not an unnecessary one; for Mrs. T., with all her anxiety to give information, did not get on very fast, and made many mistakes in names, &c., which her worse-half tried to rectify, with the result that she turned on him with “Frank, I wish you wouldn’t interrupt; you are quite wrong, you know!”

However, from the general company we managed to gather a good deal of information, which, as a cloudy day spoilt our own trip thither on the morrow, it may be expedient to repeat.  Gabas is only a hamlet of a few houses, and is in itself uninteresting.  Situated five miles from Eaux Chaudes, it is reached by a good carriage road, which, crossing the Pont d’Enfer, continues along the left bank of the river the rest of the way, the views being chiefly of granite summits and thick pine forests.  But though Gabas makes an excellent resting-place or starting-point for several excursions, no one stays there for any other reason, and tourists from Eaux Chaudes usually pass it on the way to the Plateau des Bious-Artigues or to Panticosa.  The road forks at Gabas, and becomes no longer anything but a bridle path, the right branch leading to the plateau, the other passing by the Broussette valley, across the Spanish frontier, to Panticosa.  The plateau is reached in one hour and a half, not without exertion, and the view over the Pic du Midi d’Ossau is considered wonderfully fine.  Several of our informants, however, had chosen bad days, and after all their labour, found a thick mist over everything that was worth seeing.  Among these Mrs. Tubbins had figured, and her goodman had suffered in consequence.  “The idea,” she said, “of bringing me all this way, and at my time of life too, simply to see a mist, as if I hadn’t seen plenty of them at home!” Of course she had come of her own accord, and the meek and injured one had followed as a matter of course.