nished.

"_Be!_ yes," replied the other, composedly. "When you travel in German
Switzerland you will see pastors preaching on giddy heights, standing
on rocks or rustic pulpits of the trunks of trees. A few shepherds and
cheese-makers, their leather caps in their hands, and women with their
heads dressed up in the costume of the canton group themselves about in
picturesque attitudes; the scenery is pretty, the pastures green, or
the harvest just over, cascades to the road, and flocks with their bells
ringing every note on the mountain. All that, _ve_ that's decorative,
suggestive. Only, none but the employes of the Company, guides, pastors,
couriers, hotel-keepers are in the secret, and it is their interest not
to let it get wind, for fear of startling the clients."

The Alpinist was dumfounded, silent--in him the acme of stupefaction. In
his heart, whatever doubt he may have had as to Bompard's veracity, he
felt himself comforted and calmed as to Alpine ascensions, and presently
the conversation grew joyous. The two friends talked of Tarascon, of
their good, hearty laughs in the olden time when both were younger.

"Apropos of _galejade_ [jokes]," said Tartarin, suddenly, "they played
me a fine one on the Rigi-Kulm... Just imagine that this morning..." and
he told of the letter gummed to his glass, reciting it with emphasis:
"'Devil of a Frenchman'... A hoax, of course, _que?_"

"May be... who knows?.." said Bompard, seeming to take the matter
more seriously. He asked if Tartarin during his stay on the Rigi had
relations with any one, and whether he had n't said a word too much.

"Ha! _vai!_ a word too much! as if one even opened one's mouth among
those English and Germans, mute as carp under pretence of good manners!"

On reflection, however, he did remember having clinched a matter, and
sharply too! with a species of Cossack, a certain Mi... Milanof.

"Manilof," corrected Bompard.

"Do you know him?.. Between you and me, I think that Manilof had a spite
against me about a little Russian girl..."

"Yes, Sonia... "murmured Bompard.

"Do you know her too? Ah! my friend, a pearl! a pretty little gray
partridge!"

"Sonia Wassilief... It was she who killed with one shot of her revolver
in the open that General Felianine, the president of the Council of War
which condemned her brother to perpetual exile."

Sonia an assassin? that child, that little blond fairy!.. Tartarin could
not believe it. But Bompard gave p