We thought it might be the hour when people were resting, so later we fared forth to see the gaieties of which we had heard so much. This time we found half a dozen others walking aimlessly up and down the streets. At dinner, silence reigned. In the evening we tried our best to cheer up, and went to the casino where a few persons were scattered about the auditorium listening to music. This seemed to be the height of the season at Spa, whose name has come into our language as a synonym for gaiety and relaxation. So we got away next morning and ran up a long, steep, splendid road on to fine rolling uplands that waved away like the Bohemian Highlands, with lovely views in the blue distance. We were some fifteen hundred feet up, and the air was very refreshing as we sped along. Now and then we dipped again into valleys with wooded slopes and ravines with palisades. We were in the real Ardennes country, the famous "Forest of Arden" of "As You Like It," which was sung by Ariosto a century or so before that. In this region was the church of St. Hubert, to which peasants made Christian pilgrimage. Under the choir was a crypt where they knelt. A thread from the stole of the ancient saint was said to have had the power to cure hydrophobia, if aided by cauterization. But more easily, "one may prevent hydrophobia by carrying on the finger a ring or wearing a medal which has touched the relics of the saint; also by eating or making one's animals eat the blessed bread of St. Hubert." This bread is given chiefly to dogs, I believe. We ran by picturesque La Roches and Rochefort, with fine smooth roads following the beds of little rivers in the valleys and climbing in zigzags the low mountains till we came, about one o'clock, to Han. Here we went at once, of course, to the Grottes de Han, which were very popular with tourists. It was an experience worth having. We passed through endless passages, grotesque and beautiful with stalactites and stalagmites, the varied effects well lighted by electricity. The finest thing, most terrible and impressive, was the Salle du Dome, where the black shadows were lost in the immensity of the vault. It is a cavern four hundred feet high and more than that in breadth, with a sort of mountain of broken boulders up which winds a path into the dusky gloom and blackness of the upper regions. But I must say it was more suggestive of the lower regions than the upper, especially when a guide with a flaring torch climbed and climbed, disappearing behind cliffs of darkness and reappearing on precipices till he stood at last, a tiny figure far above us, in Satan's Pulpit, and lighted a fire that seemed to burn in another world. Later we came to the banks of the subterranean river that flows through the mountain, and got into boats. As we floated down, the vaults reëchoed the singing of our fellow-travelers. But presently we saw ahead of us the light of day, peering in through the end of the cave, and slipped out--into the rain.