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How much more irresistible then to a younger man. Her buoyancy would lift such an one clear above his melancholy, though it were deep as the sea. He himself, Michel Revailloud, felt twice the fellow he had been when he sat in the balcony above the Arve. "And what mountain is it to be, mademoiselle?" he asked. The girl took a step from the door of the hotel and looked upward.
Have some one to share your memories when life is nothing but memories." At every turn the simple philosophy of Michel Revailloud seemed to obtain an instance and a confirmation. Was that to be his own fate too? Just for a moment he was daunted. He closed the door noiselessly, and going down the stairs let himself out into the street. The night was clear above his head.
She climbed up level with them on the ladder and waited, not knowing why they stood aside. "Go on, mademoiselle," said the guide. She took another step or two upon snow and uttered a cry. She had looked suddenly over the top of the mountain on to the Aiguille Verte and the great pile of Mont Blanc, even as Revailloud had told her that she would.
He was standing by the door of the hotel, and looking up he saw Michel Revailloud and a small band of guides, all of whom carried ice-axes and some Rücksacks on their backs, and ropes, come tramping down the street toward him. Michel Revailloud came close to his side and spoke with excitement. "He has been seen, monsieur. It must have been Monsieur Lattery with his one guide.
The rumor of an accident had spread. A throng of tourists stood about the door and surrounded the group of guides, plying them with questions. One or two asked Chayne as he came out on what peak the accident had happened. He did not reply. He turned to Michel Revailloud and forgetful for the moment that he was in Chamonix, he uttered the word so familiar in the High Alps, so welcome in its sound.
How was it above the Downs of Dorsetshire, he wondered. He walked along the street very slowly. Garratt Skinner was Gabriel Strood. There was clearly a dark reason for the metamorphosis. It remained for Chayne to discover that reason. But he did not ponder any more upon that problem to-night. He was merely thinking as he walked along the street that Michel Revailloud was a very wise man.
"Time, Wallie," said Garratt Skinner, and he rose to his feet and called to Pierre Delouvain. "There are only three of us. We shall have to go quickly. We do not want to carry more food than we shall need. The rest we can send back with our blankets by the porters." Pierre Delouvain justified at once the ill words which had been spoken of him by Michel Revailloud.
But it is not only the famous who are interesting. Look, madame! Here is your husband's friend, Monsieur Lattery a good climber but not always very sure on ice." "You always will say that, Michel," protested Chayne. "I never knew a man so obstinate." Michel Revailloud smiled and said to Sylvia: "I knew he would spring out on me.
What resource he had shown, what cheerfulness. Remorse gradually seized upon Chayne as he looked across the little iron table at his guide. "Yes, it is a little sad," continued Revailloud. "But I think that toward the end, life is always a little sad, if" and the note of warning once more was audible "if one has no well-loved companion to share one's memories."
She turned her eyes from the mountain to Revailloud and let them rest quietly upon his face. "And why do you advise the Aiguille d'Argentière?" she asked. Michel saw her eyes softly shining upon him in the darkness, and all the more persisted. Was not his dear patron who must needs be helped to open his eyes, since he would not open them himself, going to sleep to-morrow in the Pavillon de Lognan?
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