ome. Whether the others, who were ahead of us, had
come to the same decision, we could not tell.

Berry was driving like a professional. The fact, however, that between
Lannemezan and Tarbes the pleasant road was littered with more
dog-carts and bullock-waggons than one would have expected any three
departments of France to be able to furnish, tended to cramp his style.
The uses, moreover, to which the occupants of these vehicles subjected
the way argued a belief not so much in progress as in _esprit de
corps_. As often as not the carts moved three abreast, their human
complements comparing excited notes, gossiping and making merry with as
much disregard of their whereabouts as if they were gathered in a
familiar tavern. As for the waggons, these were frequently unattended,
their custodians trudging disinterestedly in rear, absorbed in
good-natured argument and leaving their bullocks to place their own
interpretation upon the rule of the road. Such confidence was seldom
misplaced: still, for the driver of an approaching car to share it,
demanded, I suppose, an experience of oxen which we did not possess.

After a few miles my brother-in-law's patience began to show signs of
wear and tear, and by the time we had reached Tournay it was positively
threadbare. For this Adele and I paid almost as heavily as he. But
for the horn by his side, many an infuriated chauffeur would have lost
his reason. It is a kind of safety-valve. Berry's employment of this
convenient accessory was characterised by a savagery which, if
deplorable, is not uncommon. The frequency, however, with which
passage simply had to be asked was truly terrible. Disapproval at once
so bitterly and constantly expressed was most distressing. Our heads
began to ache violently....

To crown our annoyance, we picked up a cast shoe--with the inevitable
result. When, fortified by the knowledge that it was my turn to change
the wheel, Berry ventured to point out that such an acquisition was
extremely fortunate, the power of speech deserted me.

Dusk was falling as we ran into Tarbes....

"D'you think," said Adele, "that we could find a chemist? My head
feels as if it was going to burst."

We sought diligently without success. After a little we stopped and
asked a postman. An apothecary of sorts, it appeared, was plying his
trade two side-streets away. Adele and I descended to go and visit him.

I was rather sceptical about the virtue of the dru