On the first day of our arrival, at table-d’hôte, my eyes travelled round the table and noticed an attractive-looking English trio sitting opposite to us: Mr Delbruck, his son Alfred and his nephew Walter Heape, a fine, fresh-looking boy, with whom I made a nice little bit of flirtation during our stay in Biarritz. He was very much drawn towards me; I also entertained tender feelings towards him. (And what of the prince of Montenegro?) But, never mind the prince, he was far enough away, just then, anyhow! In Biarritz you are next door to Spain and I longed to snatch a glimpse of that poetic country of fans, mantillas and serenades. The Delbrucks agreed to go with us to San-Sebastiano, a Spanish town near the frontier. We could easily go there and be back by dinner-time. We started at an early hour, half asleep all of us, but were soon cheered up as we came out into the freshness and crispness of the early morning. As we passed the frontier, I was very much disappointed to see that the Spanish officials, walking on the platform, looked just the same as the French ones,—not a bit like opera _Toreadors_ or _Tradiavolos_! After a speedy breakfast at the London Hotel we loitered about the town of San-Sebastiano in a labyrinth of narrow streets, and mounted to the top of the citadel. The climb proved to be a long, hot and fatiguing one. Half way up we saw the monument of a German merchant who, after having become bankrupt, had thrown himself into the ocean from that spot. When we reached the citadel we went groping along silent passage-ways; the semi-darkness within began to provoke a disagreeable impression on me, especially when I perceived a ghastly face peep in at us through the bars of a dungeon window. The prisoner was beckoning to us, trying to explain by an expressive pantomime, that he was going to have his head cut off. I regarded him with eyes of terror and alarm and remarking my fright, the prisoner amused himself to increase it by shouting to me: “Señorita, _escucha Vd!_” (Listen to me Miss!) which I certainly declined to do, and hid myself behind the backs of my cavaliers. We returned to the hotel thoroughly done up. After dinner, as we took our seats in the train carrying us back to Biarritz, an elderly Spaniard came in, cigar in mouth. He sat down and sent a dense cloud of horrid smoke right into our faces, making mamma feel faint. Noticing that, Mr. Delbruck requested our unpleasant fellow-traveller to stop smoking, but he only sneered, puffing away at his cigar.