from off the
glaciers, the short, warm puffs of grass-scented air from the fields
in the Valley of Trient. He noticed the flight of birds, the lazy
swinging of pine boughs, the rainbow spray of waterfalls. Once he
shouted and ran, mad with exuberance. Again he flung himself down by
the roadside and, lying on his back, sang outrageous songs and laughed
and slapped his breast with both hands.

That night he came to Chamonix and got lodging in a small hotel on the
skirts of the town. His spirits fell when he entered the room. He put
his pedlar's pack on the floor and sat down on the narrow bed,
suddenly conscious of an enormous fatigue. His feet burned, his legs
ached, his back was raw where the heavy pack had rested. He thought:
"What am I doing here? I have nothing but the few hundred pounds Waram
gave me. I'm alone. Dead and alive."

He scarcely looked up when the door opened and a young girl came in,
carrying a pitcher of water and a coarse towel. She hesitated and said
rather prettily: "You'll be tired, perhaps?"

Grimshaw felt within him the tug of the old personality. He stared at
her, suddenly conscious that she was a woman and that she was smiling
at him. Charming, in her way. Bare arms. A little black bodice laced
over a white waist. Straight blonde hair, braided thickly and twisted
around her head. A peasant, but pretty.... You see, his desire was to
frighten her, as he most certainly would have frightened her had he
been true to Cecil Grimshaw. But the impulse passed, leaving him sick
and ashamed. He heard her saying: "A sad thing occurred to-day down
the valley. A gentleman.... Salvan ... a very famous gentleman.... And
they have telegraphed his wife.... I heard it from Simon Ravanel....
It seems that the gentleman was smashed to bits--_brise en morceau.
Epouvantable, n'est ce pas_?"

Grimshaw began to tremble. "Yes, yes," he said irritably. "But I am
tired, little one. Go out, and shut the door!"

The girl gave him a startled glance, frightened at last, but for
nothing more than the lost look in his eyes. He raised his arms, and
she fled with a little scream.

Grimshaw sat for a moment staring at the door. Then with a violent
gesture he threw himself back on the bed, buried his face in the dirty
pillow and wept as a child weeps, until, just before dawn, he fell
asleep....

As far as the public knows, Cecil Grimshaw perished on the
"wall"--perished and was buried at Broadenham beneath a pyramid of
ch