Down past the bank and at an easy pace to what was once the Villa Eugenie, [Footnote:  This building, where Emperor and Empress lived at different times, now belongs to a company under the title of the “Palais Biarritz,” and is employed as a casino and restaurant.  “Sic transit gloria imperatorum.”] and continuing up the hill at the same speed, we gradually drew near the lighthouse, and when once the Villa Noailles was left behind and the level road reached again, we were soon at our destination. [Footnote:  At low tide there is a way to the lighthouse along the beach in front of the Palais Biarritz, and up a steep path over the rocks.  The other is much the better way, however, at all times.] The view of the coast to St. Jean de Luz, San Sebastien, and almost to Santander, was peculiarly good, as well as that on the other side in the direction of Bayonne; and while Mrs. Blunt remained in contemplation from her vehicle, we descended to view the rocks and caves below.

As a rule it is unwise to disclose where botanical treasures grow, as they generally become extinct soon afterwards, from excess of admiration on the part of collectors; but the maiden-hair ferns, for which the lighthouse rocks are known, can take very fair care of themselves, as they grow in such awkward positions—­we might say dangerous—­that only a few real enthusiasts, or an anxious collector with a steady head, are likely to venture to attack their strongholds.

[Illustration:  VILLA EUGENIE.]

We saw many specimens in the interstices of the rocks surrounding a moss-grown pool, but they were quite unapproachable.  One clump above we did manage to reach and bear away a few roots of, in triumph; but at one time there was only two inches of stone for the foot to rest on, with sheer rocks below; and consequently, without a rope, the experiment would hardly be worth repetition.  However, without mishap we started on our return journey, and all went smoothly till the Villa Noailles was again reached; but at this point we suddenly noticed that Mrs. Blunt was rapidly out-distancing us.  Whether the ancient steed dreamt of its former youth and activity, and “grew young once more,” or whether its long rest had made it anxious to reach its stable, we know not; but the unpleasant reality was forced upon us, that it was rapidly bearing Mrs. Blunt away.  Miss Blunt had been walking near the vehicle, Mr. Sydney and rather behind; but as Miss Blunt started to run, we rapidly followed, and overtook the steed, which, having by that time pulled up at the bottom of the hill, appeared to be anxious to turn round and have a look at Mrs. Blunt.  As it neighed at the same time, perhaps it was asking, “Who’s my driver?” but this was mere conjecture on our part, although we were not sorry to restore the animal to the fat old lady—­still knitting—­and escort Mrs. Blunt back to the hotel, none the worse for her little adventure!

[Illustration:  SCENE I.—­BEFORE THE START.]