To see Pau in its beauty, winter must have given place to spring.
When the grass once more begins to grow, the trees to unfold their
tender leaves, the rivers to swell, and the birds to sing; while
yet the sun's rays cannot pierce the snowy garment on the distant
heights; then Pau is in her beauty. Passing--as we so often passed
--down the Rue Montpensier and the consecutive Rue Serviez, into the
Rue du Lycée, then turning from it to the right for a short
distance, till, with the English club at the corner on our left, we
turned into the Place Royale, and, with the fine theatre frowning
on our backs, quickly made our way between the rows of plane-trees,
but just uncurling their leaves, to the terrace whence the whole
enormous expanse of mountain can be viewed, our admiration at the
magnificent scene unfolded before us never diminished. But our
favourite time was at sunset, especially one of those warm ruddy
sunsets that tint the heavens like a superb red canopy.

Then, leaning on the terrace wall, we admired in silence. Beneath
us lay part of the town and the railway station, the river beyond,
in one part divided and slowly flowing over its stony bed among the
alder bushes; at another, gathered together again, rushing
furiously along as though impatient to lose itself for ever in the
depths of the ocean.

[Illustration: PAU (FROM THE JURANÇON SIDE OF THE GAVE).]

Beyond the river, amid the varied green of tree and meadow, nestled
the scattered villages, with the hills above, here brown with bare
vineyards, there vying with the meadow's green; and in the
background behind and above all, the mighty range of snow mountains
extending as far as eye could reach, and fading in the dim haze of