On approaching La Roche Canillac the road descended into a very deep valley
by so many turns and windings that I was thankful to be in the pedlar's
cart, especially as the mid-day sun smote with torrid strength. But the
scenery was of exquisite beauty, and this valley will remain in my memory
as one of the most charming I have ever seen. Luxuriant woods, flashing
water, savage rocks, emerald-green patches of meadow, little mills by the
riverside--I should add nothing to the picture by saying more. Upon the
rocky hillside was the burg of five hundred inhabitants. My companions
took me to an old auberge whose exterior was not promising, but which was,
nevertheless, well supplied with food, and had a good cellar. The meal
served there was the best that had fallen to my lot for several days. The
sun had lost all the ardour of mid-day when I took leave of the pedlar
and the mayor's son. I went away thinking that I might travel far without
finding two more kindly, honest fellows.

[Illustration: A GORGE IN THE CORREZE.]

I had hoped to reach Argentat by the Dordogne that night, but I had stayed
too long at the inn for the plan to be practicable; so I set off down the
gorge of the tributary with the intention of taking my luck at a village
called St. Bazile. I was soon in the shade of the chestnut forest, where
boars were said to be plentiful. As time went on, the scenery became
more solemn and awe-inspiring. Pines that looked very gloomy in the late
afternoon mingled with the chestnuts, while black rocks, faintly flushed
with heather towards the sky, reared their jagged outlines above the sombre
foliage. All the while the water in the gorge moaned or roared. It was
growing very dusk when the walls on either hand rose like the sides of a
pit.