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Updated: June 8, 2025
Moreover, how in the world should he know that those slabs of black granite on the top of the Grépon were veined with red splashed with red as he described them? Unless he had ascended them, or the Aiguille des Charmoz opposite how should he know? The philosophy of his guide Michel Revailloud flashed across Chayne's mind. "One needs some one with whom to exchange one's memories."
"Yes, a year ago we were here," said Chayne. The little square was thronged, the hotels and houses were bright with lights, and from here and from there music floated out upon the air, the light and lilting melodies of the day. "Sylvia, you see the café down the street there by the bridge?" "Yes." "A year ago, on just such a night as this, I sat with my guide, Michel Revailloud.
The dusk came upon him as he loitered in that solitary garden; the lights shone out in cottage and farm-house; and more closely still his memories crowded about him weaving spells. Some one to share them with! Chayne had no need to wait for old age before he learnt the wisdom of Michel Revailloud.
"You can trust. I thank you," and he added, gravely: "Whatever happens you and I there is no altering that." Michel opened the door. "I will walk with you into Chamonix, and I will bring the best guides I can find to your hotel." They passed out, and crossed the fields quickly to Chamonix. "Do you go to your hotel, monsieur," said Revailloud, "and leave the choice to me.
Her face was always to the window, her lips were always parted in a smile, her gray eyes bright with happiness. "I have never known anything like this," she said. "It is all so strange, so very beautiful." Her freshness and simplicity laid their charm on him, even as they had done on Michel Revailloud the night before.
Chayne turned to Michel Revailloud. "You were right, Michel," he said, solemnly. "My friend has made the first passage of the Col des Nantillons from the East." The party moved forward again, watching with redoubled vigilance for some spot in the glacier, some spot above a crevasse, to which ice-steps descended and from which they did not lead down.
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