At this point one of the many nuisances which ought to be classed under the head of “Travellers’ Troubles,” commenced.  In the distance, but coming swiftly towards us, or rather as swiftly as a broken-winded, raw-boned, jolting apology-for-a-horse would allow, was a woman, and alas! in her train were several others; a few on or with donkeys, but more on foot.  In vain we told them that we would engage no donkeys at all, and no horses till we reached our destination; in vain we bade them allow us to “pursue the even tenor of our way” in peace, and hush their high soprano tones.  It was one perpetual babble in praise of their horses, their donkeys, and their capabilities as guides, with the constant repetition of the names of the surrounding peaks, which we already knew perfectly well.  When we reached the gorge which opens up on the right, as though the earth had been split by some mighty shock, and through which the majestic Vignemale (10,821 ft.) was perfectly visible, the storm of voices directing our attention to the sight was as loud as it was unsolicited.  But happily we were then close to Gavarnie, and crossing the bridge with a momentary glimpse at the Cirque, we drew up at the door of the Hotel des Voyageurs.

After lunching and engaging our steeds, with an intelligent guide, who answered to the euphonious name of “Poc,” we left the greatly disappointed donkey women still making a terrible clamour, and started for the Cirque.

As far as finding out the proper route goes, and that is a long way, no guide whatever is required, but in order to learn the names of the various peaks and other interesting facts, it is distinctly necessary to have one, unless the traveller possesses a very elaborate plan of the vicinity.

Leaving the new bridge to the left, as well as a very ancient one, and the plashing fall known as the “Chute de Lapaca,” we turned round in the opposite direction, and passing the “Hotel de la Cascade” and a wooden hut, again turned to the left, down what, though an execrable road, led, nevertheless, to the object of our desires.  At this turn the Pic d’Aspe reared above us on the right, succeeded by barren hills covered with loose stones, but as we proceeded, the famous central excursion—­the Pimene (9193 ft.)—­came in sight on the opposite side, followed by the Breche d’Allanz, the Pic Rouge de Pailla (9107 ft.), Pic d’Astazou (10,106 ft.), the Cylindre (10,916 ft), and even the Marbore (9964 ft.) itself.

Between the Marbore and the Epaule de Marbore (10673 ft.), nearer the centre of the Cirque, the celebrated Cascade du Marbore, (1380 ft. in height) dashes during the warmer months.  The curious summits known as La Tour (9902 ft.) and La Casque (9862 ft.), almost equidistant from the centre of the Cirque, on opposite sides, stood clearly before us, with the snow lying below each in the serrated shapes which give rise to the term “Chandelles du Marbore.”  The Breche de Roland was—­as it always is