“Very well,” she said. “It
shall be the Aiguille d’Argentiere.”
Michel went upon his way out of Chamonix and across
the fields. They would be sure to speak, those
two, to-morrow at the Pavillon de Lognan. If
only there were no other party there in that small
inn! Michel’s hopes took a leap and reached
beyond the Pavillon de Lognan. To ascend one’s
first mountain—yes, that was enviable and
good. But one should have a companion with whom
one can live over again the raptures of that day, in
the after time. Well—perhaps—perhaps!
Michel pushed open the door of his cottage, and lit
his lamp, without after all bethinking him that the
room was dark and empty. His ice-axes stood in
a corner, the polished steel of their adz-heads gleaming
in the light; his Ruecksack and some coils
of rope hung upon pegs; his book with the signatures
and the comments of his patrons lay at his elbow on
the table, a complete record of his life. But
he was not thinking that they had served him for the
last time. He sat down in his chair and so remained
for a little while. But a smile was upon his face,
and once or twice he chuckled aloud as he thought
of his high diplomacy. He did not remember at
all that to-morrow he would lead mules up to the Montanvert
and conduct parties on the Mer de Glace.
THE PAVILLON DE LOGNAN
The Pavillon de Lognan is built high upon the southern
slope of the valley of Chamonix, under the great buttresses
of the Aiguille Verte. It faces the north and
from the railed parapet before its door the path winds
down through pastures bright with Alpine flowers to
the pine woods, and the village of Les Tines in the
bed of the valley. But at its eastern end a precipice
drops to the great ice-fall of the Glacier d’Argentiere,
and night and day from far below the roar of the glacier
streams enters in at the windows and fills the rooms
with the music of a river in spate.
At five o’clock on the next afternoon, Chayne
was leaning upon the rail looking straight down to
the ice-fall. The din of the torrent was in his
ears, and it was not until a foot sounded lightly close
behind him that he knew he was no longer alone.
He turned round and saw to his surprise the over-dainty
doll of the Annemasse buffet, the child of the casinos
and the bathing beaches, Sylvia Thesiger. His
surprise was very noticeable and Sylvia’s face
flushed. She made him a little bow and went into
the chalet.
Chayne noticed a couple of fresh guides by the door
of the guides’ quarters. He remembered
the book which he had seen her reading with so deep
an interest in the buffet. And in a minute or
two she came out again on to the earth platform and
he saw that she was not overdressed to-day. She
was simply and warmly dressed in a way which suggested
business. On the other hand she had not made
herself ungainly. He guessed her mountain and
named it to her.
