The Princess Passes Volume 56 by Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson (great book club books .txt) 📕

Changing Blue-Greens, Flecked With Gold, Like The Spread Tail Of A

Peacock Burnished By The Sun.

Mont Revard Is Chiselled On The Same Pattern As All The Other

Mountains, Big And Little, Of This Part Of Savoie; First, The Long,

Steep Slope Decently Covered With A Belt Of Wood, Oak Below, And Pine

Above; Then A Grey, Precipitous Wall, Scarred And Furrowed By The

Frost And Storm Of A Million Years Or More. This Block-And-Socket

Arrangement Of Nature Is, Generally Speaking, One Of The Least

Interesting Of Mountain Forms, And Its Crudity Was The More Noticeable

As We Were Fresh From The Soaring Pinnacles And Stupendous Pyramids Of

Switzerland. But Mont Revard Is The Perfection Of Its Type; And As We

Plodded In Single File Up The Threadlike Path Wound Round The

Mountain (Joseph And Innocentina In Front, Driving The Animals), My

Respect For Revard Increased With Each Steeply Ascending Step.

Aromatic-Scented Branches Brushed Our Faces, And We Had To Part Them

Before We Could Pass On. Then They Flew Back Into Their Accustomed

Places, Resenting Our Intrusion By Shaking Over Us A Shower Of

Fragrant Dew. The Path, Which Was Always Narrow, Had Fallen Away A

Little Here And There, For It Is No One's Business To Repair It Now,

Since The Making Of The Railway Has Turned Pilgrims Into Tourists.

There Was Just Room For Man Or Beast To Walk Without Danger, But So

Sheer Were The Descents Below Us, So Great The Drop, That A Woman

Might Have Been Pardoned A Few Tremors. "It's A Good Thing You're Not

A Girl," Said I To The Little Pal, Across My Shoulder, Holding Back A

Particularly Obstinate Branch Which Would Have Liked To Push Us Over

The Precipice, With Its Lean Black Arm. "You Would Be Screaming, And I

Shouldn't Know What To Do For You."

"Not If I Were An American Girl," He Replied, Bristling With

Patriotism.

"Is Your Sister Plucky?"

"As Plucky As I Am; But Perhaps That's Not Saying Much. So You're Glad

I'm Not A Girl?"

"I Wouldn't Metamorphose You, And Lose My Comrade. Still, If Your

Sister Were Like You, And Not An Heiress, I Should----"

"You Would--What?"

"Like To Meet Her. But She Would Probably Detest Me, And Wonder How

Her Brother Could Have Endured My Society For Weeks On End."

I Was Looking Back, As I Spoke, At The Boy, Who Was Close Behind, When

Suddenly His Smile Seemed To Freeze, And Springing Forward He Caught

Me By The Coat Sleeve.

"What's The Matter?" I Asked, For He Was Pale Under The Brown Tan.

For An Instant He Did Not Answer. Then, With His Lips Trembling

Slightly, He Smiled Again. "I Thought You Were Going To Be Killed,

That's All," Said He, "So I Stopped You. You Were Looking Back At Me,

But I Saw That--That You Were Just Going To Tread On A Stone Which

Fanny Had Loosened With Her Hoof As She Passed. If You Had Stepped

There, Before You Could Regain Your Balance, You--But There's No Use

Talking Of It. Only Do Look Where You're Walking, Won't You, When

We're On A Path Like This? Now We Can Go On."

"Why, You Little Duffer, You're As White As A Ghost!" I Exclaimed. "If

The Stone Had Slipped I Should Have Jumped Back. The Path Isn't Really

So Narrow. It Only Gives That Effect Because It's Steep, And Hangs

Over The Edge Of A Precipice. Still, Many Thanks For Your Solicitude."

"I Believe, After All, I'll Have To Rest For A Minute," The Boy Said

Apologetically. "I Feel--A Little Queer. You Needn't Wait. I'm Sorry

You Should See Me Like This. You'll Think That There's Nothing To

Choose Between Me And A Girl. But I'm Not Always A Coward."

"I Know That Well Enough," I Assured Him. "You're Not A Coward Now.

But Come On. You Shall Rest When The Path Widens, Where The Others Are

Stopping."

I Caught His Hand To Pull Him Along, Since We Could Not Walk Abreast,

And It Was Icy Cold. Yet It Was Not For Himself That He Had Feared,

And My Heart Was Very Warm For The Little Pal, As I Steered Him

Carefully Past The Loose, Flat Stone On The Edge Of The Narrow Path.

Joseph And Innocentina, Who Had Been Driving Finois And Souris,

Allowing Fanny To Follow At Will, Had Called A Halt With The Three

Animals, In A Green Dell Where The Way Widened. The Muleteer Had A

Handful Of Exquisite Pink Cyclamen, Fragrant As Violets, Which He Had

Been Gathering From Hidden Nooks Among The Rocks, And He Was In The

Act Of Presenting The Flowers To Innocentina When We Arrived, But She

Waved Them Aside, Exclaiming At Her Young Master's Pale Face.

The Boy Explained That There Might Have Been An Accident, Owing To

Fanny, And The Donkey Girl Broke Into Violent Abuse Of The Brown

Velvet Creature Who Was Her Favourite.

"Daughter Of A Thrice-Accursed Mother, And Of A Despicable Race!" She

Cried In Her Odd Patois, Which It Was Often Better Not To Understand

Too Well. "Blighted And Bloodthirsty Beast! But Look At Her Now,

Eating With An Enormous Appetite A Branch As Big As Herself. Anaconda!

She Would Eat If The World Burned. If She Had, With A Stroke Of Her

Twenty Times Condemned Hoof, Hurled Us All To Death On The Rocks

Below, She Would Still Eat, Not Even Looking Over The Cliff To See

What Had Become Of Us."

"But You Should Not Talk So," Broke In Joseph, Lover Of Animals. "It

Was Not The Fault Of The Little _Âne_ That The Stone Was Loosened. How

Could She Know? It Is You Who Are Hard Of Heart, To Turn Upon Her

Thus. It Is Because You Are Catholic, And Believe That The Beasts Have

No Souls."

"It Is Better To Have None Than To Be A Heretic, And The Soul Burn,"

Retorted Innocentina. "I Am Not Hard-Hearted. I Love My Young

Monsieur, And Would Not See Him Injured, That Is All; While You Care

For Nothing In The World So Much As Your Old Finois. Ah, I Would I Had

The _Insouciance_ Of The _Ânes_. It Is After All That Which Keeps Them

Young."

At This We Laughed, Which Annoyed Innocentina So Much That She At Once

Fed To The Maligned Fanny A Bunch Of Charming Yellow-Pink Mushrooms

Which My Prophetic Soul Told Me Had Been Originally Intended For Her

Master's Lunch.

Fortunately For Us, Joseph--Sadly Wearing In His Buttonhole The

Despised Cyclamen--Discovered A Few More Of These Agreeable Little

Vegetables, Which He Tested For Our Benefit By Drawing His Sturdy

Thumbnail Along The Stem, Showing How The Fluted Undersurface Flushed

Red At The Touch, While The Blood Flowed Carmine From The Wound He

Made.

A Short Rest Brought The Colour Back To The Boy's Lips, But We Did Not

Go On Again Until We Had Eaten Some Of The Chicken Sandwiches Which

Had Been Put Up For Me At The Hotel. Climbing Had Made Us Hungry,

Although We Had Not Been Three Hours On The Way. And We Had Left The

Summer Behind, On Lower Levels; We Did Not Need To Remind Ourselves

Now That It Was Autumn. By Noon We Were _En Route_ Again, But The

Brilliance Of The Day Had Gone. As We Looked Back At The World We Were

Leaving, Serrated Mountains Were Dark Against Flying Silver Clouds,

And When We Neared The Col, A Fierce North Wind, Which Had Been Lying

In Wait For Us Above, Swooped Down Like A Great Bird Of Prey. We Had

Heard It Shrieking From Afar, But Now We Had Penetrated Into Its Very

Eyrie; And As We Crept, Like Flies Upon A Wall, Along The Tiny Path

Which Merely Roughened The Sheer Rock Precipice, The Wind Caught And

Clawed Us With Savage Glee.

For A Wonder, The Much-Travelled Joseph Had Never Before Made The

Ascent Of Mont Revard, Therefore A Certain Pioneer Instinct On Which I

Pride Myself, And Yesterday's Research In The Admirable Map Of The

Ministry Of The Interior, Alone Gave Us Guidance. I Did Not See How We

Could Have Come Wrong, Yet Each Moment It Appeared That Our Neglected

Path Had Reached Its End, Like An Unwound Tape-Measure. Could It Be

Possible That This Broken, Ill-Mended Thread Was The Clue Which Would

Eventually Lead Us To The Col De Pertuiset, And The Châlet-Hotel Far

Away Upon The Summit Of The Mountain?

The Boy And I Were Ahead Now, I Sheltering Him Slightly From The Cold

Blast With My Body, As I Walked Before Him. Presently The Way Turned

Abruptly, To Zig-Zag Up A Gap In The Rock Face, And I Shouted A

Warning To Joseph To Look After Innocentina And The Animals, So Steep

And Ruinous Was The Path. But I Need Not Have Been Alarmed. A Backward

Glance Showed Me That Joseph Had Anticipated My Instructions, So Far

As Innocentina Was Concerned.

Not A Word Of Complaint Came From The Boy; Indeed, It Would Have Been

Difficult For Him To Utter It, Even If He Would, With The Wind Rudely

Pressing Its Seal Upon His Lips. But I Held Out A Hand To Him, And

Though He Rebelled At First, An Instant's Silent Tussle Made Me Master

Of His, So That I Could Pull Him Up With Little Effort On His Part.

In The Deep Gullies And Hollows Of This Chasm Below The Col, The Wind

Had Us At Its Mercy, And Forced Our Breath Down Our Throats. We Were

In Deep Shadow, Though The Sun Should Have Been Not Far Past The

Zenith, And Looking Up To Learn The Reason, We Saw That A Huge Bank Of

Woolly Mist Hung Grey And Heavy Between Us And The Sky. Below--Far,

Far Below--We Had A Glimpse Of The World We Had Left Still Bathed In

September Sunshine, Warm And Beautiful, With Cloud-Shadows Flying Over

Low Grass Mountains And Distant Lakes. Then We Seemed To Knock Our

Heads Against A Dull Grey Ceiling, Which Noiselessly Crumbled Round

Us, And We Were In The Mist.

No Longer Was It A Ceiling, But A Sea In Which We Swam; A Sea So Cold

That A Shiver Crept Through Our Bones Into Our Marrow. We Had Escaped

The Clutches Of The Wind, To Drown In Fog, And In Five Minutes I Had

Beside Me A Small, Ghostly Form With Frosted Hair, And A White Rime On

His Jacket.