of these high regions makes the stomach frightfully hollow.
More prudent than you, I never undertake these expeditions without
providing myself with some refreshment. But how pale you are!" he added,
looking at him with sympathetic, almost tender, eyes. "Put on, I beg
of you, my overcoat, and I will wrap myself up in my plaid, and then we
will both be warm."

With these words he took off his overcoat and handed it to M. Moriaz,
who, feeling almost frozen, offered feeble objections to donning the
garment, although he had some difficulty in getting into the sleeves.

During this time Count Abel had thrown down on the rock the wallet he
carried slung to a leathern strap over his shoulders. He drew forth from
it a loaf of light bread, some hard-boiled eggs, a _pate_ of venison,
and a bottle of excellent burgundy. These provisions he spread
out around him, and then presented to M. Moriaz a cup cut from a
cocoanut-shell, and filled it to the brim, saying, "Here is something
that will entirely restore you." M. Moriaz drained the cup, and soon
felt his weakness disappear. His natural good spirits returned to him,
and he gaily narrated to his Amphitryon his deplorable Odyssey. In
return, Abel recounted to him a similar adventure he had had in the
Carpathian Mountains. It is very easy to take a liking to a man who
helps you out of a scrape, who gives you drink when you are thirsty, and
food when you are hungry; but, even had not M. Moriaz been under great
obligations to Count Larinski, he could not have avoided the discovery
that this amiable stranger was a man of good address and agreeable
conversation.

Nevertheless, so soon as the repast was finished, he said: "We have
forgotten ourselves in our talk. I am the happy father of a charming
daughter who has a vivid imagination. She will believe that I have
met with an untimely end if I do not hasten as speedily as possible to
reassure her."

Count Abel hereupon gave his hand to M. Moriaz to aid him in preserving
his equilibrium as he crossed the plank, which was not wide. Throughout
the descent he overwhelmed him with attentions, sustaining him with his
arm when the descent became too abrupt. So soon as they had made their
way to a foot-path, they resumed their conversation. Abel was very
clear-sighted, and, like Socrates, as we said before, he was master in
the art of interrogating. He turned the conversation to erratic
glaciers and boulders. M. Moriaz was enchanted with his