sick."

It was not the mulled egg that restored Mlle. Moriaz's color. The next
morning as she was giving a drawing lesson to her _protegee_, Count Abel
was announced. She trembled; the blood rose in her cheeks, and she could
not conceal her agitation from the penetrating gaze of the audacious
charmer. It might easily be seen that he had just descended from where
the eagles themselves seldom ascend. His face was weather-beaten by the
ice and snow. He had successfully accomplished the double ascent,
of which he was compelled to give an account. In descending from
Morteratsch he had been overtaken by a storm, and had come very near
never again seeing the valley or Mlle. Moriaz. He owed his life to the
presence of mind and courage of his guide, on whom he could not bestow
sufficient praise.

While he modestly narrated his exploits, Antoinette had dismissed her
pupil. He seemed embarrassed by the _tete-a-tete_ which, nevertheless,
he had sought. He rose, saying: "I regret not being able to see M.
Moriaz; I came to bid him farewell. I leave this evening."

She summoned courage and replied: "You did well to come; you left a
volume of Shakespeare--here it is." Then drawing from her notebook a
paper--"I have still another restitution to make to you. I have had the
misfortune to discover that it was you who wrote this letter."

With these words she handed him the anonymous note. He changed
countenance, and it was now his turn to grow red. "Who can prove to
you," he demanded, "that I am the author of this offence, or rather
crime?"

"Every bad case may be denied, but do not you deny."

After a moment's silence, he replied: "I will not lie, I am not capable
of lying. Yes, I am the guilty one; I confess it with sorrow, because
you are offended by my audacity."

"I never liked madrigals, either in prose or verse, signed or
anonymous," she returned, rather dryly.

He exclaimed, "You took this letter for a madrigal?" Then, having reread
it, he deliberately tore it up, throwing the pieces into the fireplace,
and added, smiling: "It certainly lacked common-sense; he who wrote it
is a fool, and I have nothing to say in his defence."

Crossing her hands on her breast, and uplifting to him her brown eyes,
that were as proud as gentle, she softly murmured, "What more?"

"I came to Chur," he replied, "I entered a church, I there saw a fair
unknown, and I forgot myself in gazing at her. That evening I saw her
again; she was walkin