There are charming drives round about. After breakfast we took a carriage and drove out of town along a well kept road. We were out in the lovely undulating countryland amid vineyards and orchards. I feasted my eyes on the beautiful country-scene, and inhaled with delight the sweet smell of the perfumed meadows and fields, where the grain was tall and golden. We saw a tourist camping in the fields under an improvised tent made by means of his cloak suspended on his stick, making water-colour sketches of the lovely landscape. Our driver wanting to give a rest to his horse, stopped before the “Jardin des Glaciers,” where an old guardian was explaining the museum belonging to this garden, to a little group of anxious sight-seers, in monotonous tones. An immense plan worked in relief of all the Swiss cantons especially attracted our attention. Close by the “Jardin des Glaciers,” the “Lion de Lucerne,” is carved out of the rock of the cliff. His size is colossal; the great beast’s protecting paw rests upon the “Lilies of France.” This gigantic thing serves as a monument to the memory of the Monarchists killed in France during the horrors of the Terror. (A singular mausoleum for a Republican country!) On our way back to the hotel, we crossed a long covered wooden bridge which contains about three hundred pictures by old Swiss masters. We got back to the hotel just in time for lunch. I generally avoid being on show at tables-d’hôtes and was very displeased with Sergy for insisting on my going down. My eyes wandered rapidly about the table and it did not improve my appetite, for everybody was so unattractive! Just opposite me sat a fat bejewelled matron, who had made her appearance on this planet some seventy years ago at least, and who at a prehistorical period could have been rather nice; but she did look such a guy now, dressed ridiculously for her age and outrageously painted, with black circles about her eyes which made them look like goggles, and a permanent blush palpably not due to nature. Her old face and youthful clothes presented an alarming contrast, but she considered herself still irresistible and affected little moues and attitudes that sat incongruously upon her elderly looks. She rolled her eyes like a love-smitten cat, showing off her rings and bracelets, and coquetted with her neighbours showing her false teeth in a hideous grimace. This old crony was a laughing-stock to everybody; she saw these mocking glances, but being completely satisfied with herself, she evidently attributed them to envy. She stared about her with a long-handled lorgnette and turned it rudely on me, eyeing me disagreeably. I returned her stare with a look of defiance. Already put into a nervous state by the cross-fire of masculine and feminine glances, I could not eat my lunch, and as soon as the horrid table-d’hôte was at an end, I hurried up into my room and indulged in a good cry. By dinner-time I was still in the same mood and would not go down, declaring