We not only show but feel a warm interest in every detail, and praise each article as it is produced.  Our new friends are clearly as much pleased as we; they seldom see strangers, and more seldom any who sympathize thus with their privations and prides, and this will be a long-remembered event in their small community.  Our hostess is much gratified when we give her little boy a silver piece,—­we can see that she had no thought of favors; and before we take leave we present her with a crimson handkerchief of India silk, owned by one of the party, at which she is fairly overjoyed.  That, we tell her, is to go into the treasure-chest, as a little reminder of her foreign visitors.  They press on us offers of milk and other refreshment, but we are mindful of the lunch preparing for us in the valley, and inform them why we must decline.  We promise to send our hostess a print of the photograph, and bid a cordial adieu; and as we descend the stairs and move off down the path, we are given a half-wistful and most earnest farewell from them all.

* * * * *

Madame Baudot is true to her word.  On her table is the most appetizing of tiffins; and after it we have another talk through the office window.  As she knits, she asks us about our plans, makes suggestions for the coming ride over the great Route Thermale, and wishes us not only a prosperous journey but a return in later years to Eaux Chaudes and the Pic du Midi.  For herself and her household, they are here the winter through, as there may be always a few comers; but it is dull and bitterly cold; they are often shut away for days from the lower valley, and she is glad with the coming of summer.

And so we drive away again from genial Eaux Chaudes, waving, as we turn the corner, to the warm faces at the doorway, the bouquets they have given us at parting.

V.

We find Eaux Bonnes at its best as we return.  The early afternoon siesta is over, and every one is out of doors.  The sunshine pours over the little park, filled with fashionable loungers.  Uniforms and afternoon toilettes add their tart hues to the sombrer garb of the male civilian.  The little donkey-carriages or vinaigrettes are in great demand, and one by one are coming or going with their single occupants, the attendant Amazon, if desired, running by the side.  Saddle-horses are also in requisition; the sidewalks have an animated air; booths and gaming-stalls are in-good swing; the springs are being dutifully patronized; motion, Heraclitus’ flux and flow, is the mark of the hour.  The transition seems even greater than yesterday’s, from Eaux Chaudes; and, glad in the charms of the latter, we are glad too to return again to the world and its harmless vanities.