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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Thank you," said Chayne, and he added: "We have had many good days together, Michel." "We have, monsieur." "I climbed my first mountain with you." "The Aiguille du Midi. I remember it well." Both were silent after that, and for the same reason. Neither could trust his voice. Michel Revailloud picked up his hat, turned abruptly away and walked out of the café into the throng of people.
"Oh, Hilary!" she cried, and put the thought from her. "I was thinking," he said, "that if you were not tired we might walk across the fields to Michel's house. He would, I think, be very happy if we did." A few minutes later they knocked upon Michel's door. Michel Revailloud opened it himself and stood for a moment peering at the dim figures in the darkness of the road.
A door opened and closed behind him. Michel Revailloud came from the guides' quarters at the end of the chalet and stood beside him in the darkness, saying nothing since sympathy taught him to be silent, and when he moved moving with great gentleness. "I am glad, Michel, that we waited here since we had to wait," said Chayne. "This chalet is new to you, monsieur.
"Why, that's true," said Chayne, and as they walked to the post-office he argued more to convince himself than Michel Revailloud. "It's very likely some quite small accident a sprained ankle." But the moment after he had sent the telegram, and when he and Michel stood again outside the post-office, the fear which was in him claimed utterance.
At two o'clock they came out from the hotel in the twilight of the morning. There were two men there. "Ah! you have come to see us off, Michel," said Chayne. "No, monsieur, I bring my mule," said Revailloud, with a smile, and he helped Sylvia to mount it. "To lead mules to the Montanvert is not that my business? Simond has a rope," he added, as he saw Chayne sling a coil across his shoulder.
"It is I, Michel," said Chayne, and at the sound of his voice Michel Revailloud drew him with a cry of welcome into the house. "So you have come back to Chamonix, monsieur! That is good"; and he looked his "monsieur" over from head to foot and shook him warmly by the hand. "Ah, you have come back!" "And not alone, Michel," said Chayne. Revailloud turned to the door and saw Sylvia standing there.
"The Col des Nantillons is a bad place, Michel, that's the truth. Had Lattery been detained in the hut he would have found means to send us word. In weather like this, that hut would be crowded every night; every day there would be some one coming from Courmayeur to Chamonix. No! I am afraid of the steep slabs of that rock-wall." And Michael Revailloud said slowly: "I, too, monsieur.
I have known your name a long while and envied you for living in the days when these mountains were unknown." Revailloud forgot the mules to the Montanvert and the tourists on the Mer de Glace. He warmed into cheerfulness. This young girl looked at him with so frank an envy. "Yes, those were great days, mademoiselle," he said, with a thrill of pride in his voice.
"For how long did you watch them?" asked Chayne. "For a few minutes only. My party was anxious to get back to Chamonix. But they seemed in no difficulty, monsieur. They were going well." Chayne shook his head at the hopeful words and handed his telegram to Michel Revailloud. "The day before yesterday they were on the rocks of the Blaitière," he said.
Here and there a slim rock spire, the Dru or the Charmoz, pointed a finger to the stars, here and there an ice-field glimmered like a white mist held in a fold of the hills. But to Michel Revailloud, the whole vast range was spread out as on a raised map, buttress and peak, and dome of snow from the Aiguille d'Argentière in the east to the summit of Mont Blanc in the west.
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