obe, to
pursue his studies, and revel in the pleasure which the rude dialect of
the region afforded him.

His friend, for this was the only term by which he dared characterize
him, was now in his element, and found it no easy matter to refrain
from expressing his delight thereat.

At length they reached the last mountain and saw, from afar, the
mirror-like surface of the lake, surrounded by gigantic mountains and
sparkling in the golden sunshine.

"Do you see that maple tree, over there?" said the intendant, no longer
able to contain himself, "there to the left, by the small rock--that is
the point from which I sketched the painting that hangs in her
majesty's music-room."

The friend had imagined that this remark might help to create a calmer
mood in Bruno, so that the terrible idea of his sister's having sought
her death below that very spot, might not at once obtrude itself.

Bruno looked at him with an impatient air. Every one thinks of himself,
said an inner voice, and this coxcomb is now thinking of his daubs. He
remained silent, however, for silence was more expressive of grief than
words could be. He rubbed his eyes, for the dazzling reflection of the
sun's rays on the surface of the lake had made them ache. His friend
grasped his hand and silently pressed it. He had understood this
fraternal heart, and his glance meant: others may think you superficial
and frivolous, but I know you better.

From the landing near by, they could hear the neighing of Bruno's
horses, which were there in charge of his grooms. And now, for the
first time, Bruno felt a sense of shame in the presence of his
servants. They, of course, knew everything, and how they must have
talked about it in the tap-room. He was full of anger at the sister who
had inflicted all this upon him.

The first information they received at the inn was that old Zenza had
been there. She had endeavored to sell or to pawn the ring which the
maid of honor had given her on the night before she had drowned
herself. As they all regarded the ring as stolen, she could obtain
nothing for it. It was now decided that Zenza must know more. They took
a guide and walked along the mountain path that led toward her hut.

Bruno, being a huntsman, was usually a good climber, but to-day he felt
as if he would break down at every step, and was often obliged to stop
and rest.

His friend encouraged him, and they walked on through the sunny forest,
where the light shone