Among mountains the great artist is completely in her element; out of doors from morning till night, lodging in the humblest and remotest of road-side hotels, or in the huts of wood-cutters, charcoal-burners, and chamois-hunters, and living contentedly on whatever fare can be obtained. In 1856, being furnished by families of distinction in the Béarnais and the Basque provinces with introductions, her party pushed their adventurous wanderings to the little station of Peyronère, the last inhabited point within the French frontier, and thence up the romantic defiles of the Vallée d’Urdos, across the summit of the Pyrenees. Their letters procured them a hospitable reception at each halting-place, with a trusty guide for the next march. In this way they crossed the mountains, and gained the lonely _posada_ of Canfan, the first on the Spanish side of the ridge, where, for six weeks, they saw no one but the muleteers with their strings of mules, who would halt for the night at the little inn, setting out at the earliest dawn for their descent of the mountains. The people of the _posada_ lived entirely on curdled sheep’s milk, the sole article of food the party could obtain on their arrival. At one time, by an early fall of snow, they were shut out from all communication with the valley. Their threatened starvation was averted by the exertions of Mademoiselle Micas, who managed to procure a quantity of frogs, the hind legs of which she enveloped in leaves, and toasted on sticks over a fire on the hearth. On these frogs they lived for two days, when the hostess was induced to attempt the making of butter from the milk of her sheep, and even to allow the conversion of one of these animals into mutton for their benefit. Their larder thus supplied, and black bread being brought for them by the muleteers from a village a long way off, they gave themselves up to the pleasures of their wild life and the business of sketching. The arrival of the muleteers, in their embroidered shirts, pointed hats, velvet jackets, leathern breeches, and sandals, was always a welcome event. Rosa paid for wine for them, and they, in return, performed their national dances for her, after which they would throw themselves down for the night upon sheepskins before the fire, furnishing subjects for many picturesque _croquis_. As the _posada_ was a police-station, established there as a terror to smugglers, the little party felt perfectly safe, notwithstanding its loneliness. Rosa was much pleased with her Scotch tour. She brought away a wonderful little Skye terrier, named “Wasp,” of the purest breed, and remarkably intelligent, which she holds in great affection. She has learned for its benefit several English phrases, to which “Wasp” responds with appreciative waggings of the tail.