An enormous crevasse of
great depth lay at her feet, blue at its edges and dark in its depths.
She stood motionless before this frightful gulf with hands thrown out
before her in horror, but charmed like a bird about to be swallowed by a
serpent. I knew the irresistible effect upon nervous temperaments of this
magnetic attraction toward an abyss. I seized her by the arm, the
suddenness of the movement made her drop her staff and flowers, which
fell into the depths of the chasm.

"I tried to lead her away, but after she had taken a few steps, I felt
her totter; she had grown pale; her eyes were closed. I threw my arm
about her, in order to support her and turned her face toward the north;
the cold air striking her revived her, and she soon opened her beautiful
brown eyes. I do not know what sudden tenderness seized me then, but I
pressed this lovely creature within my grasp, and she remained in my arms
unresistingly. I felt that I loved her already.

"She remained for a moment with her languishing eyes fixed on mine,
making no response, perhaps not even having heard me. The shouts of her
party, some of whom were coming toward her, broke the charm. With a rapid
movement, she withdrew from my embrace, and I offered her my arm, just as
if we were in a drawing-room and I was about to lead her out for a dance;
she took it, but I did not feel elated at this, for I could feel her
knees waver at every step. The smallest crevasse, which she had crossed
before with such agility, now inspired her with a horror which I could
divine by the trembling of her arm within mine. I was obliged to make
numerous detours in order to avoid them, and thus prolonged the distance,
for which I was not sorry. Did I not know that when we reached our
destination, the world, that other sea of ice, was going to take her away
from me, perhaps forever? We walked silently, occasionally making a few
trivial remarks, both deeply embarrassed. When we reached the persons who
awaited her, I said, as she disengaged my arm:

"'You dropped my flowers, Madame; will it be the same with your memory of
me?'

"She looked at me, but made no reply. I loved this silence. I bowed
politely to her and returned to the pavilion, while she related her
adventure to her friends; but I am quite sure she did not tell all the
details.

"The register for travellers who visit the Montan-Vert is a mixture of
all nationalities, and no tourist refuses his tribute; modest ones write