as Stephen
had seen it from Muerren, on one of his few trips to Switzerland.
Somehow, those little conventional potterings of his seemed pitiable
now, they had been so easy to do, so exactly what other people did.

It was long past ordinary luncheon time, and hunger constrained the two
men to eat before starting out to find the village where Mouni and her
people lived. It was so small a hamlet, that Nevill, who knew Kabylia
well, had never heard of it until Josette Soubise wrote the name for him
on one of her own cards. The landlord of the hotel at Michelet gave
rapid and fluent directions how to go, saying that the distance was two
miles, but as the way was a steep mountain path, les messieurs must go
on foot.

Immediately after lunching they started, armed with a present for the
bride; a watch encrusted with tiny brilliants, which, following
Josette's advice, they had chosen as the one thing of all others
calculated to win the Kabyle girl's heart. "It will be like a fairy
dream to her to have a watch of her own," Josette had said. "Her friends
will be dying of envy, and she will enjoy that. Oh, she will search her
soul and tell you everything she knows, if you but give her a watch!"

For a little way the friends walked along the wild and beautiful road,
which from Michelet plunges down the mountains toward Bougie and the
sea; but soon they came to the narrow, ill-defined footpath described by
the landlord. It led straight up a steep shoulder of rock which at its
highest part became a ledge; and when they had climbed to the top, at a
distance they could see a cluster of red roofs apparently falling down a
precipice, at the far end.

Here and there were patches of snow, white as fallen lily-petals on the
pansy-coloured earth. Looking down was like looking from a high wave
upon a vast sea of other waves, each wave carrying on its apex a few
bits of broken red mosaic, which were Kabyle roofs; and the pale sky was
streaked with ragged violet clouds exactly like the sky and clouds
painted on screens by Japanese artists.

They met not a soul as they walked, but while the village was still far
away and unreal, the bark of guns, fired quickly one after the other,
jarred their ears, and the mountain wind brought a crying of raitas,
African clarionettes, and the dull, yet fierce beat of tom-toms.

"Now I know why we've met no one," said Nevill. "The wedding feast's
still on, and everybody who is anybody at Yacoua, is ther