world could show. The line of hills, at the foot of which we expected
our route to lie, looked exceedingly tempting as seen from Pontarlier;
but, to our disappointment, we left the hills and struck across the
plain. About ten or eleven kilomètres from Pontarlier, however, the
character of the country changed suddenly, and we found the landlord's
promise in some part fulfilled. Rich meadow-slopes were broken by
solitary trees arranged in Nature's happiest style, and grey precipices
of Jurane grimness and perpendicularity encroached upon the woods and
grass. We were coming near the source of the Loue, M. Paget said, which
it would be necessary for us to visit. He told us that we must leave the
carriage at an _auberge_ on the roadside, and walk to the neighbouring
village of Ouhans, which was inaccessible for voitures, and thence we
should easily find our way to the source. The distance, he declared, was
twenty minutes. The woman at the _auberge_ strongly recommended the
source, but did her best to dissuade us from the glacières, of which she
said there were two. She had visited them herself, and told her husband,
who had guided her, that there was nothing to see. That, we thought,
proved nothing against the glacières, and her dulness of appreciation we
were willing to accept without further proof than her personal
appearance. Besides, to go to the source, and not to Arc, would mean
dining with her; so that she was not an impartial adviser.

M. Paget was a short square man, of very few words, and his one object
in life seemed to be to save his black horse as much as possible; a
very creditable object in itself, so long as he did not go too far in
his endeavours to accomplish it. On the present occasion he certainly
did go too far. The road was quite as good as that which we had left,
and there was no reason in the world why the carriage should not have
taken us to the village. Worse still, we discovered eventually that
the 'twenty minutes' meant twenty minutes from the village to the