ntoine to carry your top-coat, because he
would have observed your condition and anticipated your wishes. If you
had been inclined to talk he would have chatted away by the hour on
every subject that came within the range of his knowledge, and if you
had taken him beyond his depth, he would have listened by the hour with
profound respect, obviously pleased, and attempting to understand you.
Yet he would not have "bored" you. He possessed great tact. He would
have allowed you to lead the conversation, and when you ceased to do so
he would have stopped. He never looked sulky or displeased. He never
said unkind things, though he often said and did kind ones, and, with
all that, was as independent in his opinions as the whistling wind among
his native glaciers. In fact he was a prince among guides, and a
pre-eminently unselfish man.

Heigho! if all the world--you and I, reader, included--bore a stronger
resemblance to Antoine Grennon, we should have happy times of it. Well,
well, don't let us sigh despairingly because of our inability to come up
to the mark. It is some comfort that there are not a few such men about
us to look up to as exemplars. We know several such, both men and
women, among our own friends. Let's be thankful for them. It does us
good to think of them!

From what we have said, the reader will not be surprised to hear that,
after the first words of morning salutation, Lewis Stoutley walked
smartly along the high road leading up the valley of Chamouni in perfect
silence, with Antoine trudging like a mute by his side.

Lewis was too busy with his thoughts to speak at first. Nita's illness,
and the mystery connected somehow with the Count, afforded food not only
for meditation, but anxiety, and it was not until the town lay far
behind them that he looked at his guide, and said:--

"The route over the Tete-Noire is very grand, I am told?"

"Very grand, Monsieur--magnificent!"

"You are well acquainted with it, doubtless?"

"Yes; I have passed over it hundreds of times. Does Monsieur intend to
make a divergence to the Col de Balme?"

"No; I have urgent business on hand, and must push on to catch the
railway. Would the divergence you speak of take up much time? Is the
Col de Balme worth going out of one's way to see?"

"It is well worthy of a visit," said the guide, replying to the last
query first, "as you can there have a completely uninterrupted view--one
of the very finest views of M