ped him; and in few yards farther we were in Italy. Maybe you
remember that the frontier is marked by a wild chasm, cleft in the high
mountains which hurl themselves down to the very margin of the sea. Over
the splendid chasm is the Pont St. Louis, and through the very middle of
the stone bridge runs the invisible "frontier line."

I thought I saw a sentry box on the Italian side, but it was too dark to
be sure; and one has to go a good way up the steep mountain road before
one reaches the office of the _douane_. Here Brown pulled up, as two
slouching men in blue-grey overcoats, with rifles slung over their
backs, came forward to meet us. Our Lightning Conductor is always very
courteous in dealing with foreign officials. He says it "smooths
things"; and now, seeing that the men intended to stop us, he politely
expressed the wish to pass, offering to pay whatever deposit was
demanded. Though I have only the smallest smattering of Italian, I could
understand pretty well what followed. The men refused to let us pass.
Brown argued the matter; he produced a passport, which the two men
inspected by the light of a lantern. They appeared impressed, but still
refused us passage, saying that the office was closed for the night,
that the chief had gone, and that there was no one who could make out
the necessary papers. "But it is monstrous!" cried Brown. "Is this
Italian hospitality? Do you suggest that the ladies should remain here
on the road till morning?" The _douaniers_ shrugged their shoulders.
"There are plenty of good hotels in Mentone," said one. "Go back there."

"No," said Brown, "I will not go back. Where does the chief of the
bureau live?" The _douaniers_ refused to tell. Clearly they did not want
a "wigging" for letting loose an imperious Englishman upon their chief,
reposing after his dinner. By this time an interested crowd of ten or
twelve persons had assembled, their shadowy forms seeming to rise out of
the ground. I heard a voice in French whisper into my ear, "I am of
France, and all these Italians are pigs. The _chef de douane_ lives in
Mortola, the first village up the road"; and before I could look round
to thank him, the friendly Frenchman was swallowed up in darkness. I
called Brown and gave him the news. He asked if we minded being left
alone while he went to fetch the chief, saying we should be quite safe
in charge of the _douaniers_; and on our agreeing strode off up the
steep road, one of the guards im