hawk was the only sound of bird-life. Near rocks of dazzling mica-schist
was a miserable hut with a patch of buckwheat reaching to the stream. A man
standing amidst the white flowers of the late-sown crop said, in answer to
my questioning, that I could not possibly reach the village of Port-Dieu
without walking upon the line and through the tunnels.

When I had left him about fifty yards behind, his curiosity proved more
than he could bear in silence; so he called out to me, in the bad French
that is spoken hereabouts by those who use it only as the language of
strangers: '_Quel metier que vous faites?_'

I waved my hand in reply and left him to his conjectures.

On I went, now over the glittering stones, now wading through the pink
flowers of saponaria, then in a mimic forest of tall angelica by the
water's edge, until I realized that the peasant's information was
sound--that it was impossible to walk through this gorge except upon the
railway.

Presently the rocks rose in front of me and the line disappeared into the
darkness of a tunnel. I did not like the idea of entering this black hole,
for I had brought no candle with me, but the prospect of climbing the rocks
was still more forbidding. It proved to be a short and straight tunnel with
daylight shining at the farther end. After this came another short one, but
the third was much longer and had a curve; consequently I was soon in total
darkness. The only danger to be feared was a passing train, so I felt with
my stick for the wires between the rock and the metals, and crept along by
them. From being broiled by the sun ten minutes before I was now shivering
from the cold. I longed to see again the flowers basking under the warm
sky, and to hear the grasshoppers' happy song. By-and-by I saw the blessed