"I am sorry," said Chayne.

The words sounded, as he spoke them, lame enough and trivial in the face
of Michel's passionate lament. But they had an astonishing effect upon
the guide. The flow of words stopped at once, he looked at his young
patron almost whimsically and a little smile played about his mouth.

"'I am sorry,'" he repeated. "Those were the words the young lady spoke
to you on the steps of the hotel. You have spoken with her, monsieur, and
thanked her for them?"

"No," said Chayne, and there was much indifference in his voice.

Women had, as yet, not played a great part in Chayne's life. Easy to
please, but difficult to stir, he had in the main just talked with them
by the way and gone on forgetfully: and when any one had turned and
walked a little of his road beside him, she had brought to him no
thought that here might be a companion for all the way. His indifference
roused Michel to repeat, and this time unmistakably, the warning he had
twice uttered.

He leaned across the table, fixing his eyes very earnestly on his
patron's face. "Take care, monsieur," he said. "You are lonely
to-night--very lonely. Then take good care that your old age is not one
lonely night like this repeated and repeated through many years! Take
good care that when you in your turn come to the end, and say good-by
too"--he waved his hand toward the mountains--"you have some one to share
your memories. See, monsieur!" and very wistfully he began to plead, "I
go home to-night, I go out of Chamonix, I cross a field or two, I come to
Les Praz-Conduits and my cottage. I push open the door. It is all dark
within. I light my own lamp and I sit there a little by myself. Take an
old man's wisdom, monsieur! When it is all over and you go home, take
care that there is a lighted lamp in the room and the room not empty.
Have some one to share your memories when life is nothing but memories."
He rose as he ended, and held out his hand. As Chayne took it, the guide
spoke again, and his voice shook:

"Monsieur, you have been a good patron to me," he said, with a quiet and
most dignified simplicity, "and I make you what return I can. I have
spoken to you out of my heart, for you will not return to Chamonix and
after to-night we shall not meet again."

"Thank you," said Chayne, and he added: "We have had many good days
together, Michel."

"We have, monsieur."

"I climbed my first mountain with you."

"The Aiguille du Midi. I remember it