It was evidently considered rather a show place, for the driver pulled up his vehicle, and we all descended to take a good look. Perhaps, too, he was not averse to resting his horses before the final climb to Vivario, for he gave a ready assent to the proposal of Nos. 2 and 3, that they should finish the distance on foot.
"How far is it?" we asked.
"About two kilomètres, mademoiselle."
We had heard of the Corsican inability to reckon distances; but, unfortunately, at the moment forgot it. So we set off, after a few minutes' rest above the lovely gorge, in an easy stroll after the now distanced diligence, nothing suspecting, and prepared to enjoy our mile and a half walk.
The views were exquisite,—snow mountains rising before us on every side; but the ascent was uncommonly steep, and our pace insensibly slackened.
Only as the sun, after half an hour's retirement, came out in noonday force did we recollect that we had left our umbrellas in the diligence.
We began to boil as we toiled up the steep hill, with our pocket handkerchiefs under our hats, and the mocking diligence, ever decreasing, yet ever in sight, winding up the endless glare of white road above and beyond us. And still no village to be seen!
Presently we were overtaken by some native workmen going up the road with their tools. They increased their pace to come up with us, and then walked beside us conversing.
"How far is it to Vivario from here?" we asked, thinking surely we must be near our goal.
"About five kilomètres, mademoiselle," was the answer we received, to our mortification; almost immediately followed by the usual question, "Are you Frenchwomen?"