Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 8, 2025
July passed with a procession of cloudless days; valley and peak basked in sunlight. August came, and on a hot starlit night in the first week of that month Chayne sat opposite to Michel Revailloud in the balcony of a café which overhangs the Arve. Below him the river tumbling swiftly amidst the boulders flashed in the darkness like white fire. He sat facing the street.
Michel Revailloud was silent for a little while, and when he spoke again, he spoke very wistfully. One might almost have said that there was a note of envy in his voice. "Well, that is still something, monsieur. You are very lonely to-night, is it not so? You came back here after many years, eager with hopes and plans and not thinking at all of disappointments.
Chayne watched the procession in silence quite aloof from its light-heartedness and gaiety. Michel Revailloud drained his glass of beer, and, as he replaced it on the table, said wistfully: "So this is the last night, monsieur. It is always sad, the last night."
"We will stop here," said Michel Revailloud, as he stepped on to the little platform of earth in front of the door. "If we start again at midnight, we shall be on the glacier at daybreak. We cannot search the Glacier des Nantillons in the dark." Chayne agreed reluctantly. He would have liked to push on if only to lull thought by the monotony of their march.
"Hardly in a fog on the Glacier du Géant," replied Chayne. Michel Revailloud caught at some other possibility. "Of course, some small accident a sprained ankle may have detained him at the hut on the Col du Géant. Such things have happened. It will be as well to telegraph to Courmayeur."
I am no longer fit for anything except to lead mules up to the Montanvert and conduct parties on the Mer de Glace." Chayne stared at Michel Revailloud. He thought of what the guide's life had been, of its interest, its energy, its achievement. More than one of those aiguilles towering upon his left hand, into the sky, had been first conquered by Michel Revailloud. And how he had enjoyed it all!
Here she found first ascents of which she had read with her heart in her mouth, ascents since made famous, simply recorded in the handwriting of the men who had accomplished them the dates, the hours of starting and returning, a word or two perhaps about the condition of the snow, a warm tribute to Michel Revailloud and the signatures.
He wrote to me from Zermatt that he would be here." Revailloud shook his head. "He is not in Chamonix, monsieur." Chayne experienced his second disappointment that morning, and it quite chilled him. He had come prepared to walk the heights like a god in the perfection of enjoyment for just six weeks.
She spoke quickly to the guide and he turned at once and called "Michel," and when Revailloud approached, he presented him to Sylvia Thesiger. "He has made many first ascents in the range of Mont Blanc, mademoiselle." Sylvia held out her hand with a smile of admiration. "I know," she said. "I have read of them." "Really?" cried Michel. "You have read of them you, mademoiselle?"
Chayne resumed his seat and sat there, silent and thoughtful, until the street began to empty and the musicians in the square ceased from their songs. Meanwhile Michel Revailloud walked slowly down the street, stopping to speak with any one he knew however slightly, that he might defer his entrance into the dark and empty cottage at Les Praz-Conduits.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking