In any case, at ten o’clock all that was left of my store was placed upon the back of Finois, who had the air of ignoring its existence, and mine as well.  Had he been a horse, he would at least have deigned to exchange glances with me, friendly or otherwise; but being what he was, he looked everywhere except at me, as if he had been some haughty aristocrat conscientiously snubbing an offensive upstart.  Joseph appeared to be the one human being of more importance for Finois than the moving bough of an inedible tree, bush, or shrub, and even Molly could win him to no change of facial expression, though he ate her offered sugar.

There was a pang when I turned my back irrevocably upon my friends, having waved my hand or my panama so often that to do so again would he ridiculous.  We were off, Joseph, Finois, and I; there was no getting round it; and as we ambled away along the hot white road, we seemed but small things in the scheme of a busy and indifferent world—­mere cards, shuffled by the hands of an expert, for a game in which our destination was unknown.

[Illustration:  No Title]

CHAPTER IX

The Brat

“Be kind and courteous to this gentleman; hop in his walk
and gambol in his eyes.” 
—­SHAKESPEARE.

In beginning our tramp, I trudged step for step with Joseph, who had Finois’ bridle over his arm, and answered my questions regarding the various features of the landscape.  Thus I was not long in discovering that he had a knowledge of the English language of which he was innocently proud.  I made some enquiry concerning a fern which grew above the roadside, when we had passed through Martigny Bourg, and Joseph answered that one did not see it often in this country.  “It is a seldom plant,” said he.  “It live in high up places, where it was difficile to catch, for one shall have to walk over rocks, which do not—­what you say?  They go down immediately, not by-and-bye.”

I liked this description of a precipice, and later, when we had engaged in a desultory discussion on politics, I was delighted when Joseph spoke solemnly of the “Great Mights.”  He had formed opinions of Lord Beaconsfield and Gladstone, but had not yet had time to do so of Mr. Chamberlain, for, said he, “these things take a long time to think about.”  Fifteen or twenty years from now, he will probably be ready with an opinion on men and matters of the present.  He asked gravely if there had not been a great difference between the two long-dead Prime Ministers?

“How do you mean?” I enquired.  “A difference in politics or disposition?”

“They would not like the same things,” he explained.  “The Lord Beaconsfield, par exemple, he would not have enjoyed to come such a tour like this, that will take you high in icy mountains.  He would want the sunshine, and sitting still in a beautiful chaise with people to listen while he talked, but Monsieur Gladstone, I think he would love the mountains with the snow, as if they were his brothers.”