erial. Never before was
there a bath like it, with the good smell of pinewood of which the tub
was made, and the tingle of the water from a mountain spring. I
revelled in it, and as I dressed could have sung for pure joy of life,
until I remembered that I was a jilted man, and this tour a voyage of
consolation.

"You are miserable, you know." I informed my reflection in a small,
strange-coloured glass, which allowed me to shave my face in greenish
sections. "It is a kind of madness, this spurious gaiety of yours."

In half an hour I was out of the house, and found Joseph feeding
Finois. They were both prepared to leave at ten minutes' notice, and
when the two human creatures of the party had been refreshed with
crusty bread and steaming coffee, the procession of three set forth.
As for the boy, the donkeys and their guardian, as far as I knew they
were still sleeping the sleep of the unjust.

If the Pass had been glorious in open day, and by falling twilight, it
was doubly wonderful in this mystic dawn-time before the lamp of the
rising sun had lit the valley. The green alps where the cattle pasture
were faintly musical, far and near, with the ringing of unseen bells,
and the air was vibrant with the rush and whisper of waters. As the
shadows melted in the crucible of dawn, and an opaline high trembled
on the dark mountain-tops that towered round us, I saw marvels which
either had not existed last night, or I had been dull clod enough to
miss them.

Fairy wild-flowers such as I had never seen studded the rocks with
jewels of blue and gold, and rose, and little silver stars; and there
were some wonderful, shining things of creamy grey plush, suggesting
glorified thistles.

We walked through the Valley of Death, where many of Napoleon's men
had perished; and the first rays of sunrise touched the tragic rocks
with the gold of hope. Up, up beyond the alps and the sparse
pine-trees we climbed, until we came to the snowline, and passed
beyond the first white ledge, carved in marble by the cold hand of a
departed winter. Down through a gap in the mountains streamed an icy
blast, and I had to remind myself, shivering, that this was August,
not December. The wind tore apart the fabric of lacy cloud which had
been looped in folds across the rock-face, like a veil hiding the worn
features of some aged nun, and showed jagged mountain peaks, towering
against a sky of mother-o'-pearl. Suddenly, after a steep ascent, we
saw bef