our walk when from far below came an ominous sound of thunder, and we saw
heavy rain-clouds dropping upon the heights we had left behind.

All hope of a fine prospect was now at an end, but instead we had a
compensating spectacle. For thick and fast the clouds came pouring into
one chasm after another, drifting in all directions, here a mere
transparent veil drawn across the violet hills, there a golden splendour
as of some smaller sun shining on a green little world. At one moment the
whole vast scene was blurred and blotted with chill winter mist; soon a
break was visible, and far away we gazed on a span of serene amethystine
sky, barred with lines of bright gold. Not one, but a dozen, horizons--a
dozen heavens--seemed there, whilst the thunder that reached us from
below seemed too remote to threaten. But at last the clouds gathered in
form and volume, hiding the little firmaments of violet and amber; the
bright blue sky, bending over the green oasis--all vanished as if by
magic. We could see no more, and nothing remained but to go back, and the
quicker the better. The storm, our guide said, was too far off to reach
us yet, and we might reach the chalet without being drenched to the skin,
as we fortunately did. No sooner, however, were we fairly under shelter
than the rain poured down in torrents and the thunder pealed overhead. In
no part of France are thunderstorms so frequent and so destructive as
here, nowhere is the climate less to be depended on. A big umbrella,
stout shoes, and a waterproof are as necessary in the Vosges as in our
own Lake district.

We had, however, a fine afternoon for our drive back, a quick downhill
journey along the edge of a tremendous precipice, clothed with
beech-trees and brushwood. A most beautiful road it is, and the two
little lakes looked lovely in the sunshine, encircled by gold-green
swards and a delicate screen of alder branches. Through pastures white