, and I am told they still remember how we used to
sail into the wildest creeks and remotest bays of France and Savoy. The
young stranger, too, would sometimes embark in the middle of the day
for less distant expeditions. The boatmen, who were proud of her
confidence, always took care to give her notice of the least symptom of
wind or cold weather, thinking far more of her health and safety than
of their own gains. On one occasion, however, they were themselves
deceived. They had undertaken to row her safely over to Haute-Combe, on
the opposite shore of the lake, in order to visit the ruins of the
Abbey. They had scarcely got over two-thirds of the distance, when a
sudden gust of wind, rushing forth from the narrow gorges of the valley
of the Rhone, stirred up the waves of the lake, and produced one of
those short seas which so often prove fatal. The sail of the little
boat was soon gone, and it seemed like a nutshell dancing on the
still-increasing waves. It was impossible to think of returning, and
full half an hour of fatigue and danger must elapse before the boat
could be moored in safety under the hanging cliffs of Haute-Combe. Fate
willed that my wandering sail should be on the lake at the same hour. I
was in a larger boat, with four stout oarsmen, and was going to visit
M. de Chatillon, a relation of my Chambery friend. His chateau was
situated on the summit of a rock, in a small island at one end of the
lake. A few strokes of the oar would have brought us into the harbor of
Chatillon, but I, who had unconsciously been watching the other boat
and saw it struggling against the wind, perceived the danger in which
it was placed. We put about immediately, and with one heart affronted
the tempest and the dangers of the lake, to try and succor the little
craft, which every now and then disappeared, and was lost in a mist of
foam and spray. My anxiety was intense during the hour that was
required to cross the lake before we could join the little bark. When
we came up to it, the shore was close at hand, and one long wave lodged
it in safety before our eyes on the sand at the foot of the ruined
Abbey.

We shouted for joy, and rushed through the water to the boat, in order
to carry the invalid ashore. The poor boatman was making signs of
distress, and calling for help; he was pointing to the bottom of the
boat, at something we could not see. On reaching the spot where he
stood, we found that the stranger had fainted, and w