ffice. It is as I
suspected. Miste is in the diligence. He is now"--the man paused to
consult his watch--"between La Tourette and Levens. It is 11:30. The
diligence was twenty minutes late in starting. Our friend has two
hours and ten minutes start of these gentlemen."

By way of reply we made greater haste, and, in truth, were aided
therein by our new ally, who, if he possessed a busy tongue, had
fingers as active.

"The horses," he continued, "await us in the Rue Paradis, just behind
here--a quiet street--good horses of two comrades of mine in the
mounted gendarmerie who are away on furlough. If necessary, you can
leave them at the Hotel des Alpes, at St. Martin, and write me word.
If the horses come to harm, I know these gentlemen will not let my
comrades suffer."

Here Alphonse, who had borrowed the money from me earlier in the day,
produced two notes of five hundred francs, and pressed them
unavailingly on the agent.

As we walked rapidly towards the Rue Paradis, our masterful friend
gave us particulars of the road.

"It is," he said, "the route de Levens. Monsieur knows it--well, no
matter! They say it was built hundreds of years before the Romans
came. One ascends this bank of the river until the road divides, then
to the left through the village of St. Andre. After two kilometres one
finds one's self in a gorge--the cliffs on either side of many hundred
feet. There are places where the sunlight never enters. It is an
ascent always--follows La Tourette, a fortified village high above the
road on the right. Then the road becomes dangerous. There are places
between Levens and St. Jean de la Riviere where to make a false step
is to fall a thousand feet. One hears the Vesubie roaring far below,
but the river is invisible--it is dark even at midday. The great
cliffs are unbroken by a tree or a pathway. This is the Col du Dragon,
a great height. In descending one passes through a long tunnel cut in
the rock, and that is half-way. At St. Jean de la Riviere you will
find yourselves in the valley of the Vesubie. Here, again, one mounts
continually by the side of the river. The road is a dangerous one, for
there are landslips and chutes of stone--at times the whole roadway is
swept down into the river."

The man, with the quick gestures of his people, described all so
graphically that I could see the road and its environments as he
traversed it in imagination.

"Before long, however, one sees Venanson," he went o