We spend a long time upon the tower and still there is no sign of life; no angry summons on the old bell from an astonished custodian, until one wonders whether there ever was any one save the old dog, or whether he alone is the custodian and if so, what shape he assumes on dark nights when the wind shrieks like lost souls around the Castle walls. It is warm and sunny to-day and we finally pass downward and out, locking the dog in and depositing the key where we found it, together with two francs. Just outside the gateway I pause to inspect an outer tower--one of the most curious bits of architecture I have ever seen. It is circular and formed by square, heavy blocks of lava, closely fitting together. Each block has carved upon it the half of a ball. There is a well in the enclosure and evidently this was the water supply for those in the Castle. I decide not to get into the auto until Jean has turned it around and I watch this manoeuvre with much interest and some fear as to results, for a sudden spurt would mean a fall of fifty feet and destruction all round. However, he manages it all as easily as I could a baby carriage, and we are shortly _en route_, skimming down the mountains and out onto the long white highways of the valley. CHAPTER XV ANCIENT TOWN OF RIOM--THE ROUTE TO VICHY--CHÂTEAU DE BOURBON-BUSSET--VICHY--THE LIFE THERE--DANGER OF SPEEDING--ARRIVAL AT BOURGES Returning to Clermont, we pass the old town of Riom, a very interesting relic of the days of Francis I. The walls have been removed but the town stands unchanged as it was constructed, and being built of blocks of lava from the Volvic quarries it will endure with time. Riom holds a beautiful chapel like the Sainte Chapelle in Paris, and many stately mansions with façades of the renaissance period. On a flight of steps are a group of Auvergne women with strong faces--faces one could trust. They are spinning and give no heed to our passing. As we are speeding through the streets, without warning, we are upon a baby carriage,--so near that it is impossible to stop and we strike it with great force. Believing that it holds a helpless child, one can fancy our feelings of horror, and also our feelings of thankful relief when out of it roll two empty milk cans. The old woman who owns it certainly makes more racket over her cans than she would have done over a baby.