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That name Chamounix has always been to my ears, as Stevenson says, 'like the horns of elf-land, or crimson lake. I want to come face to face with Mont Blanc, of which I've only seen a far-off mirage, long ago when I was a little chap, at Geneva. What are your plans?" "If I ever had any, I've forgotten them," said I. "Look here, Little Pal, shall we join forces as far as as far as "
Our road from Chamounix to Annecy led us past gorges and over high precipices and among noble mountains, but my mind was no longer in a condition to receive or retain strong impressions of natural beauty.
During this very summer of 1838, therefore, while Agassiz was tracing the ancient limits of the ice in the Bernese Oberland and the Haut Valais, and later, in the valley of Chamounix, Guyot was studying the structure and movement of the ice during a six weeks' tour in the central Alps.
Three letters awaited me on the table; one from Dr. Chéron, written in a bold hand a mere note of condolence: one from Dalrymple, dated Chamounix: the third from Hortense. I knew it was from her. I knew that that small, clear, upright writing, so singularly distinct and regular, could be only hers. I had never seen it before; but my heart identified it. That letter contained my fate.
<b>SUES, MLLE. LEA.</b> Three silver medals from the School of Arts, Geneva; diploma of honor at the National Swiss Exposition, 1896. Member of l'Athénée, Geneva. Born at Genoa and studied there under Professors Gillet, Poggy, and Castan. This artist paints landscapes, Swiss subjects principally. Her pictures of Mont Blanc and Chamounix are popular and have been readily sold.
I went for excursions into Savoy, ascended La Grande Saleve on donkey- back, and from the top looked down at the full length of the Leman. I drove to the valley of Chamounix, sixty-eight miles, in a diligence and four; about every other hour we had relays of horses and a new driver. Whenever possible, we went at a rattling galop. Half-way I heard the first Italian.
"It was what I was thinking of just now," I answered. "Are we to part company?" The Boy laughed an odd little laugh. "Why, that depends," said he abruptly, "on where you are going. I've planned to walk back over the St. Bernard to Martigny, and so by way of the Tête Noire to Chamounix.
Let us descend to the sunny plains of Italy. Winter will soon be here, to clothe this wilderness in double desolation; but we will cross the bleak hill-tops, and lead her to scenes of fertility and beauty, where her path will be adorned with flowers, and the cheery atmosphere inspire pleasure and hope." In pursuance of this plan we quitted Chamounix on the following day.
His advice was of great service when we were visiting the Borromean Islands, where my acquaintances parted from my wife and myself to travel back by the nearest route, whereas we intended proceeding further across the Simplon and through Le Valais to Chamounix. From the fatigue my tour had so far occasioned me, I felt that it would be some time before I started on a similar one again.
"Oh, you'll go on with the Contessa? But I shouldn't be surprised if she were good-natured enough to wait at Chamounix to congratulate me when I come down." "No doubt she thinks enough of you to do that. But what I mean is this: if you go up Mont Blanc, I'm going too." "Nonsense! You'll do nothing of the kind.
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