Although there is but little level road for enjoying a ride, we nevertheless managed to pass a short time very pleasantly on horseback.  Leaving the Esplanade des Oeufs on the left, we took the road passing between the back of the Hotel d’Angleterre and a curious chalet, built with a pagoda beside it, and little bridges in communication.  Following this road, which is known as the Promenade du Mamelon Vert, [Footnote:  The Mamelon Vert is a green hill near the entrance to the town.] and in turn passing the “Cafe du Mamelon Vert”—­near which the track to the Cabaliros branches off—­and the commencement of the path to Catarabe, we bore down to the right at the back of the Mamelon, and crossed the Gave by a rickety wooden bridge—­shortly to be superseded by one of stone—­into the Pierrefitte road.  Down this, through the fine gorge within sight of the mines, and then back to the hotel, constituted the remainder of the ride.

Our stay at Cauterets was not without excitement, though certainly that excitement was not of a pleasant kind.  We soon discovered that the decorating of the streets was for the benefit of the “Confirmation Procession,” for which the Bishop was coming from Tarbes.  The Rue Richelieu was “up” all along one side for the laying of gas-pipes, and, by way of diversion, every now and then—­usually when we were at dinner, or wanting to look out of the window—­a penny squeaking trumpet would sound, then a lad would rush about and close all the shutters, leaving the rooms in darkness and the inmates in suspense, till it ended in a series of loud reports, accompanied by the distribution of various specimens of granite in all directions.  The authorities stopped this nice performance when the Bishop was expected, as the mere chance of “blasting” a Bishop would have been too painful for the Catholic workmen’s feelings, especially as they hoped for a benediction!  As soon as word arrived of the approach of “Monseigneur’s” carriage, the cure and chief dignitaries of the town, accompanied by a brass band, a detachment of firemen, and a small regiment of women—­decked in hoods of blue or red or white—­passed down the muddy street, bearing banners, and a gilded canopy with white plumes.  In a few moments they returned, the band playing, the banners waving, the abbes and choir singing, and in the centre of the throng, with two cures in front of him under the canopy, came the new Bishop of Tarbes, resplendent in violet watered silk, trimmed with beautiful lace, gloves of the same hue, with ring on the outside of the right hand, which he perpetually kissed to the admiring spectators.  Miss Blunt, who was for once able to look out of the window in safety, had a special one all to herself, and of course she didn’t mind any amount of explosions after that!