At Salechan (thirteen miles) the beautiful valleys of Siradan and Barousse branch off, and the scenery in the vicinity is deliciously bright and peaceful-looking.  The bathing resort of Ste. Marie lies a mile northwards, and barely a mile to the west of it, on the road to Mauleon, the baths of Siradan are situated.  Mauleon (1960 ft.) is three and a quarter miles west from Siradan by the village of Cazaril, standing at the head of the Barousse valley.

Still passing through charming country, we reached Loures (not to be confounded with Lourdes), at which place—­being the railway station for St. Bertrand—­carriages can be hired for the drive, a distance of six miles there and back.  Traversing the village and crossing the bridge, we issued again on a vista of fields bright with trefoil and waving flowers, and backed up by finely-wooded hills.  Away to the right, nestling among the trees, stands a pretty little village and castle, and as we passed on, St. Bertrand came in view over the crest of a wooded hill; and, arriving at the junction where the roads from Auch, Toulouse, and Ax join in, we ascended the hill on which this ancient town is situated.

Founded by Pompey the Great, B.C. 69, Lugdunum Convenarum, or Lyon, or—­as it is now called—­St. Bertrand de Comminges, though standing only 1690 ft. above the sea, seems from its isolated position, to be much higher; as the accompanying sketch by M. Dore testifies, though the latter exaggerates the proportions of the cathedral.

Though in a ruinous state, much of the old ramparts and fortifications remain, while in some parts many of the old stones seemed to us to have been used for ornamental walls, such as no one would consider fit to resist even a very modest cannon-ball.

Bearing to the left, we passed beneath the “Porte Cabirole,” opposite to which stands a small kiosque, built, on account of the beauty of the view, at that point The road continues between high walls underneath another archway, past the ruins of a curious house, with a winding staircased tower of the 13th century, which alas! before this appears in print, will probably have disappeared altogether; then bending to the left, and again to the right after a few yards, we drew up at the Cafe (called by courtesy Hotel) de Comminges, with the ancient cathedral in full view.  Having sent a telegram early in the morning, we found lunch ready for us, and though we had fared better elsewhere, we did not consider that for a “primitive Roman town” the meal was to be found fault with while as to the garden belonging to the inn, it was indeed a charming little spot.  Although in truth but little more than a “spot,” the bright and varied hues of its stocks, columbines, pansies, and sweet peas, with here and there a particularly fine iris, contrasting so effectively with the dark green of the ivy leaves and the blackness of the berries clustering over the old wall, gave it a charm which we could not fail to feel; and the view from the creeper-grown arbour over the richly-wooded hills and brilliant fields, with the bright garden as a background, made a scene to remember and enjoy.