As the next and the next cascade were passed, our spirits rose still more; and when we saw the gray daylight in the distance, our gaiety was quite genuine, and we no longer ‘laughed yellow,’ as the French phrase it.  The stream was rapidly becoming a frantic torrent, but we were not afraid of it now.  On reaching the dome, we saw the water pouring over rocks that were dry when we entered, and the clouds seemed to be emptying their rain in frenzy.

An hour later the stream that was lisping so innocently as it threaded its way amongst the stones, and dropped from rock to rock before the storm, sent up a wild roar from the bottom of the valley, and shrieked like a tormented fiend, as it leaped into the black mouth of the Gouffre de Revaillon.  Tons of water had probably collected there at the bottom of the gulf.  And I, in my shortsightedness, had hoped that the cavern was two or three miles long!  I had great reason to be thankful that it ended where it did, for the excitement of adventure would have carried us on, and we might have gone too deep into the earth to hear the thunder.

On emerging from the darkness, we made all the haste we could to reach the nearest inn.  The storm was still at its height; the thunder was an almost continuous roar; and the quick lightning-flashes lit up the streaming country.  We were quite drenched on reaching a little wayside auberge.  Water was soon boiling upon the wood-fire, and having set rheumatism at defiance with steaming glasses of grog, we left for Roc-Amadour, where, on our arrival, we found our friends about to start with lanterns to look for us in the Gouffre de Revaillon.

* * * * *

Noticing one day a low cavern in the rocks beside the Ouysse, I asked if anyone had ever entered it, and was told that a man had done so; that he had found a long, low gallery, which he followed for two or three hundred yards, and then gave up the attempt to reach the end.  It was well known that the hole, being on a level with the water, was much used by otters.  The desire to explore this cavern becoming strong, I spoke to Decros about the adventure.  He was ready to go with me; and so we started, taking with us enough candles to light a ball-room.

On our way over the hills from Roc-Amadour, we passed two dolmens, one of which was in good preservation.  There are several hundred of them in the Quercy; and the peasants, who call them pierros levados (raised stones), also ‘tombs of the giants’ and cairous, in which last name the Celtic word cairn has been almost preserved, treat them now with indifference, although it is recorded of one of the early bishops of Cahors that he caused a menhir to be broken to pieces because it was an object of idolatrous worship.  Those who have been to the trouble of excavating have almost invariably found in each dolmen a cella containing human bones.  In some of them flint implements have been discovered; in others iron implements and turquoise ornaments, showing that the tombs, although all alike, belong to different periods.  Tumuli are also numerous, but only a few menhirs and traces of cromlechs are to be seen.