"Captain Mansel's compliments, sir, and, as Mrs. Adèle Pleydell was the last to drive Ping, 'e thinks she must 'ave 'is key…. And as Love's the honly thing as laughs at locksmiths, sir, will you kindly return this forthwith…. I asked Captain Mansel where 'e'd like you to meet 'im, sir, but 'e said you'd know."
From Pau to La Barre is seventy miles—as near as 'damn it.'
* * * * *
I covered the distance alone. All the way a memory kept whispering above the rush of the tires…. 'Madonna!'…. 'Madonna!'…
CHAPTER V
HOW LOVE CAME TO JILL, HERBERT TO THE RESCUE, AND A YOUNG MAN BY HIS RIGHT
A week of fine days had slipped by. Most of these we had spent upon the open road. For fifty miles about Pau we had proved the countryside and found it lovely. This day we had determined to fare farther afield. Perhaps because of this decision, Trouble had peered out of the bushes before we had gone twenty miles.
Had we, however, been advised to expect a puncture and requested to select the venue, we could not have chosen a more delightful spot.
Immediately upon our right there was a garden, trim and pleasing as the farmhouse it served. Stretched in the gateway lay a large white hound, regarding us sleepily. Beyond, on the greensward, a peacock preened himself in the hot sunshine. On the left, a wayside bank made a parapet, and a score of lime-trees a sweet balustrade. A glance between these natural balusters turned our strip of metalling into a gallery. The car, indeed, was standing upon the edge of a brae. Whether this fell sheer or sloped steeply could not be seen, for the first thing which the down-looking eye encountered was a vast plain, rich, sun-bathed, rolling, three hundred feet below. North, south, and east, as far as the sight could follow, was stretching Lilliput. Meadows and poplars and the flash of streams, steadings and villages, coppices, flocks and curling roads glinted or glowed in miniature. Close on our right two toy towers stood boldly up to grace a townlet. Due east a long, straight baby avenue led to a midget city. Northward a tiny train stole like a snail into the haze of distance. Far to the south the mountains, blurred, snowy, ethereal, rose like a beckoning dream to point the fairy tale.
It was only when we had gloated upon the prospect for several minutes, identified the townlet as Ibus and the city as Tarbes, and, taking out powerful binoculars, subjected the panorama to a curious scrutiny, which might have shattered the illusion, but only turned Lilliput into Utopia, that we pulled ourselves together and started to consider our plight.