silently
criticising his every move; Ropes was in the tonneau; such luggage as we
had, on top.

It was scarcely eight o'clock, and there was so little traffic in the town
that we did not need to trouble about a legal limit. We slipped swiftly
along the rough white road to the railway station, past large villas and
green lawns, and took the sharp turn to the right that leads out from the
pleasant land of France straight to romantic Spain, the country of my
dreams. We sped past houses that looked from their deep sheltering woods
upon a silver lake, and away in the distance we caught glimpses of the
sea. Before us were graceful, piled mountains, the crenelated mass of Les
Trois Couronnes glittering with wintry diamonds. Against the morning sky,
stood up, clear and cold, the cone of far La Rune.

Looking ahead, in my ears sang the song of my blood, sweet with hope, as
the name of the girl I love and the land I love, mingled together in
music.

Gaining the first outskirts of straggling St. Jean de Luz my eyes and
Dick's fell at the same time upon something before us; a big grey
automobile, its roof piled with luggage, stationary by the roadside, a
chauffeur busy jacking up the driving wheels, a tall man standing to watch
the work, his hands in the pockets of his fur coat. Instantly Dick slowed
down our car, to lean out as we came within speaking distance, while I sat
still, secure from recognition behind elaborately hideous goggles.

"Is there anything we can do?" asked Dick with the generosity of an
automobilist in full tide of fortune to another in ill fortune. I noticed
as he spoke, that he made his American accent as marked as possible; so
marked, that it was almost like hoisting the stars and stripes over the
transformed and repainted Gloria.

"No, thank you," said Carmona; for it was he who stood in the road looking
on while his chauffeur worked. He had glanced up with anxiety and vexation
on his ungoggled, dark face, at the first sound of an approaching car, and
I knew well what thought sprang into his head. But a red car, with an
American driving, was not what he had half expected to see. He was visibly
relieved; nevertheless, he was slow enough in answering to bring us to a
standstill, while he peered at our wheel-caps.

The deceitful name, glittering up to his eyes, so evidently reassured him
that a temptation seized me, and I yielded without a struggle.

I had come prepared for a quick signal to Monica whe