ed reign, our own Marlborough taking
his part in such decisive battles as Blenheim and Malplaquet.

This Canal du Midi, reflecting the outlines of Carcassonne, added much
to the trade of Southern France. If that has declined amidst the world's
chances and changes, its numerous barges plying to and fro with sails
set to the evening breeze and the setting sun, still form one of earth's
most rare and beautiful scenes, full of calm repose. Corn and wine and
oil are their freights; rich Argosies commanded by many a modern Jason,
carrying many a Golden Fleece to the fair and flourishing towns that lie
in its path between the tideless shores of the Levant and the restless
waters of Biscay.

On the other side of the town runs the River Aude, also reflecting the
ancient outlines of Carcassonne in waters less placid than those of the
great Canal. This takes its way through a fertile valley given up to
vines and olives, fig-trees and pomegranates; and here flock crowds of
invalids to the mineral baths and waters, penances due to indiscretions
of the table or sins of their forefathers.

Our train rolled over both these waterways on its journey towards
Narbonne.

By this time we had realised that we had been misinformed as to the hour
we should reach Gerona, our first resting-place, adding one more record
to the chapter of small accidents. At Narbonne we had the good fortune
to find a Chef de Gare civil and obliging as he of Bordeaux, who
declared it impossible to reach Gerona that day as there was no railway
communication. We should have to spend the night at Portbou, the Spanish
frontier, where our quarters would be wretched, and all our sweet turn
to bitter against those who had misled us.

We decided at once. "Better remain where there is a good inn, than go on
to the miseries of Portbou, Monsieur le Chef."

"That is clear," he replied. "Here you will be comfortable--and on
French ground," laughing: "a virtue in my eyes, and I hope in yours
also."

We willingly agreed. "But our luggage? It is registered to Portbou."

He looked grave. "That is unfortunate; it must go on to Portbou. I
cannot give it to you. It is against all rules, and I greatly regret
it."

"Yet we cannot do without it. If you send it on to Portbou, we cannot
remain behind. Have you the heart to consign us to that _chambre de
tortures?_"

He paused a moment, revolving the momentous situation. "No," he laughed
at length, "I cannot do that, and for onc