XXVI

Above the Snow Line

".... le temps l'acheve."

Before setting out we had a light breakfast at the Hotel des Alpes,
where we were informed by several other persons, and on two further
occasions by the waiter that the "patron" was deaf. Indeed, the
village had no other news.

The postmaster had ordered a carriage, which, however, could only take
us two miles on our road, for this ceased at that distance, and only a
bad bridle path led onward to Italy.

Alphonse was by this time beginning to feel the effects of his long
ride and sleepless night; for he had not closed his eyes, while I had
snatched a priceless hour of sleep. Moreover, the hardships of the
campaign had rendered him less equal to a sudden strain than a man in
good condition. He kept up bravely, however, despite a great thirst
which at this time assailed him, and sent him to the brook at the side
of the path much too often for his good.

We entered at once upon a splendid piece of mountain scenery, and
soon left behind us the vivid green of the upper valley. To our left a
sheer crag rose from the valley in one unbroken slope, and in front
the mountains seemed to close and bar all progress. We had five
thousand feet to climb from the frontier stone, and I anticipated
having to accomplish the larger part of it alone. They had warned us
that we should find eight feet of snow at the summit of the pass.

Miste had assuredly been hard pressed to attempt such a passage alone,
and bearing, as he undoubtedly did, a large sum of money. The man had
a fine nerve, at all events; for on the other side he would plunge
into the wildest part of northern Italy, where the human scum that
ever hovers on frontiers had many a fastness. Villainy always requires
more nerve than virtue.

I meant, however, to catch Mr. Charles Miste on the French side of the
Chapel of the Madonna di Finestra.

We trod our first snow at an altitude of about five thousand feet. The
spring, it will be remembered, was a cold one in 1870, and the snow
lay late that year. At last, on turning a corner, we saw about two
miles ahead of us a black form on the white ground, and I confess my
heart stood still.

Alphonse, who had no breath for words, grasped my arm, and we stood
for a moment watching Miste, for it could be no other. The sun was
shining on the great snow-field, and the man's figure was the one dark
spot there. He was evidently tired, and made but slow progress.

"I am no