would contradict me. But she, too, looked anxious, now that the great
moment had come, for we were driving into a town, at the mouth of a
deep gorge already dusky with purpling shadows, and there was no doubt
that it was Piedimulera.

The gloom of the twilight settled upon our spirits, dissimulate as we
might, as the car swept into the cobble-paved courtyard of an
_albergo_, a venerable grandfather of a hostelry, old, grim, and
forbidding. Out came a large, fair man to welcome us, with calculation
in his cold grey eye. He looked to me like a spider in his web,
greeting some inviting flies. We broke the ice by asking for coffee,
and when we were told that we must have it without milk, as there were
no cows within a radius of many miles, I would have staked all my
possessions (especially those acquired at Bern) that there would be no
such comparatively useless animals as mules or donkeys.

Instinct is seldom wrong. If ever there was nothing in a name, there
was nothing in that of Piedimulera, which had evidently been applied
in sheer mockery, or because, untold generations ago, the foot of that
rare creature, a mule, had been preserved here in a museum. When the
landlord found that we did not intend to stop overnight, unless mules
were at once forthcoming, he visibly lost interest in us, as inedible
insects. He shrugged his shoulders at the bare idea that Piedimulera
might shelter such creatures as we were mad enough to desire, and
assured us that there was not the least use in trying Domodossola. We
had much better spend the night with him, and to-morrow morning go on
as best we might to Brig. No? Then he washed his hands of us.

I did not give my treasures to this person: rather would I have burnt
all, than picture him battening on my Instantaneous Breakfasts. Molly