This Luz valley, once part of a miniature republic like the Valley of Ossau, is in the form of a triangle.  We have just entered by the northern corner.  From the angle on the right runs the defile leading southward to the far-famed Gavarnie, our to-morrow’s excursion.  On the left, through the opening of the remaining angle, the Thermal Route passes on eastward to Bareges and Bigorre, and that we are to resume on returning from Gavarnie.

The Widow Puyotte, at the Hotel de l’Univers, proves almost as winsome and quite as cordial as good Madame Baudot.  The hotel has a chalet-like appearance which is unconventional and pleasing.  Here too, as at Eaux Chaudes, our rooms overlook the Gave, but this stream is running sedately through the town itself instead of rollicking down a mountain gorge.

III.

We find Luz as lovable as its location.  It is not fashionable and it has no springs.  There are few objects of interest to clamor for recognition.  Yet its appearance is so tidy, its bent streets so multifariously irrigated, its people so open-faced and respectful, that the town has an immediate charm.  We are impressed everywhere in these mountains with the geniality of the people.  Human nature, considering its discouragements, is wonderfully good at bottom.  Kindliness seems a universal trait in the Pyrenees.  It shines out in every nature.  One has only to meet it half way.  Innkeeper, guide, shopkeeper or peasant, all are unaffectedly good-tempered and well-disposed.  A discourteous return would puzzle them; a harsh complaint would wound deeply.  The sunshine comes from a nearer sun than in the north.  A polite nation, the French are reputed to be; but always underlying this good repute has been the suspicion that the politeness serves mainly to cover self-interest; that it is simply an integument, a rind.  In the cities there is a certain truth in this; but the provinces are not thus tainted.  In these southern mountains the core is sound and sweet.  The response to our advances is so hearty and direct, the interest taken so friendly, that its sincerity is unquestionable.  Beggars abound; but your evidently self-respecting husbandman talking willingly with you in the millet-field is not of that class; he is not expecting a coin at parting.  In some parts of Europe, he would be disappointed not to get two.  On the Route Thermale, a small brace under one of the carriages gave way; it was near a village; we were promptly surrounded by six or eight pleasant-faced villagers, who turned their hands at once to help:  one held the horses, three joined to lift the carriage, one or two crept under to assist the driver in repairs, and the others, while we talked with them, looked anxiously on, as relieved as all of us when the difficulty was finally adjusted.  There was a raising of berrets, there were bows and good wishes, there was a hearty “Bon jour, mesdames et messieurs” as we started, and the men moved back down the road without a thought that their aid should have been sold for a price.