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Updated: June 9, 2025
His mother is a ruddy, dignified, richly dressed old gentlewoman of seventy-five, who knows Chamonix better than Camberwell; evidently a good old lady, with the 'Christian Treasury'tossing about on the table. She puts 'John' down, and holds her own opinions, and flatly contradicts him; and he receives all her opinions with a soft reverence and gentleness that is pleasant to witness....
He noticed the flight of birds, the lazy swinging of pine boughs, the rainbow spray of waterfalls. Once he shouted and ran, mad with exuberance. Again he flung himself down by the roadside and, lying on his back, sang outrageous songs and laughed and slapped his breast with both hands. That night he came to Chamonix and got lodging in a small hotel on the skirts of the town.
Met Christine at Dijon on the 3rd. Then by Dole to Vevay. Binet came. Met the Wodehouses. Visit to the Blumenthals at their chalet. 13th, to the Gorges du Trient, and so to Chamonix, with Binet and Christine. Splendid weather at Chamonix. 16th, St. Martin's; full moon rising behind Mont Blanc. 17th, to Chambery, St. Laurent du Pont, and the Grande Chartreuse very interesting.
Then it had been night; now it was day. Then she had been used to seek respite from her life in the shelter of her dreams. Now the dreams were of no use, since what was real made them by comparison so pale and thin. The blood ran strong and joyous in her veins to-day; and looking at her, Chayne sent up his prayers that they might not arrive in Chamonix too late.
Take good care that when you in your turn come to the end, and say good-by too" he waved his hand toward the mountains "you have some one to share your memories. See, monsieur!" and very wistfully he began to plead, "I go home to-night, I go out of Chamonix, I cross a field or two, I come to Les Praz-Conduits and my cottage. I push open the door. It is all dark within.
Both bodies had been wrapped in sacks and cords had been fixed about their legs. The rescue party dragged the bodies down the glacier to the path, and placing them upon doors taken from a chalet, carried them down to Chamonix. On the way down François talked for a while to Michel Revailloud, who in his turn fell back to where at the end of the procession Chayne walked alone.
It seemed like a ship's hull overturned, the keel in the air. Strangely enough, the temperature was very high ten degrees above zero. The air was almost still. Sometimes we felt a light breeze. The first care of our guides was to place us all in a line on the crest opposite Chamonix, that we might be easily counted from below, and thus make it known that no one of us had been lost.
Chamonix was crowded and gay with lights. In the little square just out of sight upon the right, some traveling musicians were singing, and up and down the street the visitors thronged noisily.
Guynemer is still with them, accompanying each one, and instilling into them the passionate longing to do more and more for France. In seaside graveyards, the stone crosses above the empty tombs say only, after the name, "Lost at sea." I remember also seeing in the churchyards of the Vale of Chamonix similar inscriptions: "Lost on Mont-Blanc."
Ever afterward Sylvia looked forward, through weeks, to those few moments in her mother's annual itinerary, and prayed with all her heart that the night might be clear of mist and rain. She sat now at the window with no thought of Trouville or their hurried flight. With each throb of the carriage-wheels the train flashed nearer to Chamonix.
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