In the long, idle hours
they gave him something to think of that took his mind from dwelling on
his own entangled affairs.

He counted, too, on the hazards of hotel life throwing them one day
together. He was already on speaking or nodding terms with most of the
distinguished men whom he could address in a common language. This had
come about by the simple means of propinquity on the terrace or in the
semicircular hall. He soon saw, however, that no diligence in
frequenting these places of reunion would help him with the stately
stranger whose interest he desired to win. The gentleman took the air
elsewhere.

For contiguous to the terrace of the hotel is a little public park
called the Kleine Schanze--haunt of well-behaved Bernese children, of
motherly Bernese housewives supplied with knitting and the gossip of the
town, of Bernese patriarchs in search of gentle exercise and sunshine.
This little park possesses a music-pavilion, a duck-pond, a monument to
the Postal Union of 1876, many pretty pathways, and an incomparable
promenade. The incomparable promenade has also an incomparable view on
those days when the Spirit of the Alps permits it to be visible.

Two such days at least there were during that month of June. Glancing
casually over his left shoulder as he marched one afternoon with head
bent and back turned toward the east, Chip saw that which a few minutes
before had been but the misty edge of the sky transformed into a range
of ineffable white peaks. The unexpectedness with which the glistering
spectacle appeared made his heart leap. It was like a celestial
vision--like a view of the ramparts of the Heavenly City. He clutched
the stone top of the balustrade beside which he stood, seeking terms
with which to make the moment indelible in his memory. Nothing came to
him but a few broken, obvious words--sublime!--inviolate!--eternal! and
such like.

What he chiefly felt was his inadequacy for even gazing on the sight,
much less for recording it, when he became aware that in the crowding of
people to the edge of the terrace the stranger was standing near him. It
was an opportunity not to be missed.

"Ca, c'est merveilleux, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?"

The words were banal, but they would serve to break the ice.

"Yes; and it becomes more marvelous the oftener it appears. I've never
seen it more beautiful than to-day; but perhaps that's because I've seen
it so many times."

Chip was disappointed to be answered