of human
passion, they left the group together, in order to make a last search for
their course.

The snow by this time was many inches deep, and as the road was at best
but a faint bridle-path that could scarcely be distinguished by day-light
from the debris which strewed the ravines, the undertaking would have been
utterly hopeless, had not Pierre known that there was the chance of still
meeting with some signs of the many mules that daily went up and down the
mountain. The guide called to the muleteers, who answered his cries every
minute, for so long as they kept within the sound of each other's voices,
there was no danger of their becoming entirely separated. But, amid the
hollow roaring of the wind, and the incessant pelting of the storm, it was
neither safe nor practicable to venture far asunder. Several little stony
knolls were ascended and descended, and a rippling rill was found, but
without bringing with it any traces of the path. The heart of Pierre began
to chill with the decreasing; warmth of his body, and the firm old man,
overwhelmed with his responsibility while his truant thoughts would
unbidden recur to those whom he had left in his cottage at the foot of the
mountain, gave way at last to his emotions in a paroxysm of grief,
wringing his hands, weeping and calling loudly on God for succor. This
fearful evidence of their extremity worked upon the feelings of Sigismund
until they were wrought up nearly to frenzy. His great physical force
still sustained him, and in an access of energy that was fearfully allied
to madness, he rushed forward into the vortex of snow and hail, as if
determined to leave all to the Providence of God, disappearing from the
eyes of his companion. This incident recalled the guide to his senses. He
called earnestly on the thoughtless youth to return. No answer was given,
and Pierre hastened back to the motionless and shivering party, in order
to unite all their voices in a last effort to be heard. Cry upon cry was
raised, but each shout was answered merely by the hoarse rushing of the
winds.

"Sigismund! Sigismund!" called one after another, in hurried and alarmed
succession.

"The noble boy will be irretrievably lost!" exclaimed the Signor Grimaldi,
in despair, the services already rendered by the youth, together with his
manly qualities, having insensibly and closely wound themselves around his
heart. "He will die a miserable death, and without the consolation of
meeting hi