"Well, I do not know. There's witches, for certain, in the Landes,—old women—but whether they come flying out here to dance round the devil or no—the peasants say so for certain—but I don't think I believe it."
"I should hope you didn't."
"They enchant people, though; there's no doubt of that. They can give you the fever so bad that no doctor can set you to rights again; and they can curse a place, and keep the grass from growing on it; but I don't believe they fly on broomsticks, or dance round the devil."
"Are there any young women witches?"
"Well, I do hear of one or two. Mais elles ne sont pas bien fortes. It is only the old ones make good witches, and the uglier they are the better."
"Well, now, did they ever do any harm to you?"
The man paused, and looked at me with a puzzled expression. "Our little Marie," he said, "has fits; and my wife does say—" Here he stopped. "No, monsieur," he said, "I do not believe in witches."
But he did, as firmly as King Jamie; only now and then, in the bright sunlight, and with an incredulous person, he thought he did not.
On, however, we went mile after mile, over the slippery ground, and in the shadow of the pines, ere we saw gleaming ahead, the region of fine sand, and heard—although the little breeze which blew was off the shore—the low thunder of the "coup de mer"—the breaking surf of the ocean. Presently, passing through a zone of stunted furze, and dry thin-bladed grass, we emerged into the most fearful desert I ever looked upon—a sea of heights and hollows, dells and ridges, long slopes and precipitous ravines—all of them composed of pure white, hot, drifting sand. The labour of walking was excessive. I longed for the stilts I had seen the day before. Every puff of breeze sent the sand, like dry pungent powder, into our faces, and sometimes we could see it reft from the peaks of the ridges, and blown like clouds of dust far out into the air. All at once my guide touched my arm, "Voila! donc, voila! des chevaux sauvages!" It certainly only required a breed of wild horses to make the country an exact counterpart of Arabia; and I eagerly turned to see the steeds of the desert, just succeeding in catching a glimpse of a ruck of lean, brown, shaggy ponies, disappearing round a hill, in a whirlwind of sand. There is, undoubtedly, something romantic and Mazeppaish in the notion of wild horses of the desert; but stern truth compels me to add, that a more stunted, ragged lot of worthless brutes, not bigger than donkeys, than were the troop of desert steeds of the Landes which I had the fortune to see, could be nowhere met with. My fisherman told me that, when caught and tamed, they were useful in carrying sacks and panniers along the sandy ways; but that there were not more vicious, stubborn brutes in nature than Landes ponies.