was probably the
wall of the hotel. No blur of yellow light penetrated the gloom, but a
few minutes of anxious groping brought us to a door--rather an
elaborate, pretentious door, which instantly dispelled all fear that
we had come upon another chalet, or perchance a barn.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXV

The Americans

"Is the gentleman anonymous? Is he a great unknown?"
--SHAKESPEARE.

While Joseph and Innocentina remained outside with the animals, the
Boy and I entered a long, dark corridor, dimly lighted at the far end.
Half-way down we came upon a porter, whose look of surprise would have
told us (if we had not learned through bitter experience already) that
Mont Revard's season was over. He guided us to the door of a large
salon, which he threw open with an air of wishing to justify the
hotel; and despite the load of weariness under which the Boy was
almost fainting, he whipped the dressing-gown off in a flash, shook
the snow from his panama, squaring his little shoulders, and
re-entered civilisation with a jauntiness which denied exhaustion and
did credit to his pride. Nevertheless, he availed himself of the first
easy-chair, and dropped into it as a ripe apple drops from its leafy
home into the long grass.

The porter scampered off to send us the landlord, and to see to the
comfort of Joseph and Innocentina, until they and their charges could
be definitely provided for. While we waited--the Boy leaning back,
pale and silent, in an exaggerated American rocking-chair, I standing
on guard beside him--there was time to look about at our surroundings.

The room was immense, and on a warm, bright day of midsummer might
have been delightful, with its polished mosaic floor, its painted
basket chairs and little tables, and its standard lamps with coloured
silk shades. But to-day a stuffy, red-curtained bar-parlour would have
been more cheerful.

At first, I thought we were alone in the waste of painted wicker-work,
for there had been dead silence on our entrance; but hardly had we
settled ourselves to await the coming of the landlord, when a movement
at the far end of the big, dim room told me that it had other
occupants. Two men in knickerbockers were sitting on low chairs drawn
close to a fireplace, and both were looking round at us with evident
curiosity.

As the Boy's chair had its high back half-turned in their direction,
all they could see of him was a