the more thrilling was the effect of the savage landscape upon our souls—those of us who consciously possess souls.
We had met nobody for a long time now; for, since leaving the region of pines, we seemed to have passed beyond the road-mender zone, and the zone of waggons loaded with dry branches like piled elks' horns. Still, as one could never be sure what might not be lurking behind some rocky shoulder, where the road turned like a tight belt, our musical siren sang at each turn its gay little mocking notes.
After a lonely mountain village, named St. Germain-en-Calberte, and famous only because the tyrant-priest Chayla was burned there, the surface of the road changed with startling abruptness. Till this moment we 'd known no really bad roads anywhere, and almost all had been as white as snow, as pink as rose leaves, and smooth as velvet; but suddenly the Aigle sank up to her expensive ankles in deep, thick mud.
"Hullo, what 's this bumping? Anything wrong with the car?"
Out popped Sir Samuel's anxious head from its luxurious cage.
"The trouble is with the road," answered the chauffeur, without so much as an "I told you so!" expression on his face. "I 'm afraid we 've come to that déclassée part."
Poor Sir Samuel looked so humble and sad that I was sorry for him. "My mistake!" he murmured meekly. "Had we better turn after all?"
"I fear we can't turn, or even run back, sir," said Mr. Dane. "The road 's so bad and so narrow, it would be rather risky."
