rges which intersect the white summits
of the mountains, the inn of Schwarenbach is a refuge for travelers who
are crossing the Gemmi.

It is open six months in the year, and is inhabited by the family of
Jean Hauser. As soon as the snow begins to fall, and fills the valley
so as to make the road down to Loeche impassable, the father, with
mother, daughter, and the three sons depart, leaving the house in
charge of the old guide, Gaspard Hari, with the young guide, Ulrich
Kunsi, and Sam, the great mountain dog.

The two men and the dog remain till spring in their snowy prison, with
nothing before their eyes except immense, white slopes of the Balmhorn,
surrounded by light, glistening summits, and shut up, blocked up, and
buried by the snow which rises around them, enveloping and almost
burying the little house up to the eaves.

It was the day on which the Hauser family were going to return to
Loeche, as winter was approaching, and the descent was becoming
dangerous. Three mules started first, laden with baggage and led by the
three sons. Then the mother, Jeanne Hauser, and her daughter Louise
mounted a fourth mule, and set off in their turn. The father followed
them, accompanied by the two men in charge, who were to escort the
family as far as the brow of the descent. First of all they skirted the
small lake, now frozen over, at the foot of the mass of rocks which
stretched in front of the inn; then they followed the valley, which was
dominated on all sides by snow-covered peaks.

A ray of sunlight glinted into that little white, glistening, frozen
desert, illuminating it with a cold and dazzling flame. No living thing
appeared among this ocean of hills; there was no stir in that
immeasurable solitude, no noise disturbed the profound silence.

By degrees the young guide, Ulrich Kunsi, a tall, long-legged Swiss,
left daddy Hauser and old Gaspard behind, in order to catch up with the
mule which carried the two women. The younger one looked at him as he
approached, as if she would call him with her sad eyes. She was a
young, light-haired peasant girl, whose milk-white cheeks and pale hair
seemed to have lost their color by long dwelling amid the ice. When
Ulrich had caught up with the animal which carried the women, he put
his hand on the crupper, and relaxed his speed. Mother Hauser began to
talk to him, and enumerated with minutest detail all that he would have
to attend to during the winter. It was the first winter