"We mean to risk it, monsieur."
"Ah, you English ladies are rash; you fear nothing. Have you a good driver?"
"A very good one; and one we can trust perfectly."
"That is well; for it is a terrible place, an expedition of horror. Precipices six hundred feet high—a wall of rock overhanging—ah, ciel! And a steep and narrow road, where one false step may cause destruction! Think of that, mesdames!"
We had thought of it, and enjoyed the prospect; but, as these three men shuddered sympathetically over the horrors of the place, we began to wonder faintly whether the Inzecca would indeed prove our romantic and early tomb.
CHAPTER XV.
THE INZECCA.
After a comfortable night in our clean, though poverty-stricken little rooms, we started before 8 a.m., on a cloudy morning, for the Inzecca.
The road wound above the torrent bed, and past Christalisione, descending rapidly, and gradually becoming enclosed on either side by steep rocky crags of great height. Behind us rose a distant fine range of snowy peaks, soon, however, shut out by the surrounding walls.
The road was exceedingly bad and rutty, and after we had passed our cantonnier friends of the day before, who smilingly recognized us, became so uneven that we both flew up and down on our seats like India-rubber balls, with an apparent possibility of landing ultimately outside our carriage, and with an absurdity that almost interfered with our appreciation of the view, and made even Antonio, who was driving slowly and carefully, turn round occasionally with a sympathetic smile.
On first entering the defile, the view was lovely. Far away was a peep of the distant sea, before which stretched two ranges of blue and purple hills, set in a frame of steep grey rocks, green gorge, and foaming river.