The stout mountaineer raised himself in pride, and endeavored to acknowledge the compliment in the manner of his well-meant but rude courtesy; for refinement did not then extend its finesse and its deceit among the glens of Switzerland.

“They have done me honor, Monsieur,” he said:  “it has been my good fortune to cross the Col with many brave gentlemen and fair ladies—­and in two instances with princes.” (Though a sturdy republican, Pierre was not insensible to worldly rank.) “The pious monks know me well; and they who enter the convent are not the worse received for being my companions.  I shall be glad to lead so fair a party from our cold valley into the sunny glens of Italy, for, if the truth must be spoken, nature has placed us on the wrong side of the mountain for our comfort, though we have our advantage over those who live even in Turin and Milan, in matters of greater importance.”

“What can be the superiority of a Valaisan over the Lombard, or the Piedmontese?” demanded the Signor Grimaldi quickly, like a man who was curious to hear the reply.  “A traveller should seek all kind of knowledge, and I take this to be a newly-discovered fact.”

“Liberty, Signore!  We are our own masters; we have been so since the day when our fathers sacked the castles of the barons, and compelled their tyrants to become their equals.  I think of this each time I reach the warm plains of Italy, and return to my cottage a more contented man, for the reflection.”

“Spoken like a Swiss, though it is uttered by an ally of the cantons!” cried Melchior de Willading, heartily.  “This is the spirit, Gaetano, which sustains our mountaineers, and renders them more happy amid their frosts and rocks, than thy Genoese on his warm and glowing bay.”

“The word liberty, Melchior, is more used than understood, and as much abused as used;” returned the Signor Grimaldi gravely.  “A country on which God hath laid his finger in displeasure as on this, needs have some such consolation as the phantom with which the honest Pierre appears to be so well satisfied.—­But, Signor guide, have many travellers tried the passage of late, and what dost thou think of our prospects in making the attempt?  We hear gloomy tales, sometimes, of thy alpine paths in that Italy thou hold’st so cheap.”

“Your pardon, noble Signore, if the frankness of a mountaineer has carried me too far.  I do not undervalue your Piedmont, because I love our Valais more.  A country may be excellent, even though another should be better.  As for the travellers, none of note have gone up the Col of late, though there have been the usual number of vagabonds and adventurers.  The savor of the convent kitchen will reach the noses of these knaves here in the valley, though we have a long twelve leagues to journey in getting from one to the other.”

The Signor Grimaldi waited until Adelheid and Christine, who were preparing to retire for the night, were out of hearing, and he resumed his questions.