The offended Pierre, who liked the spirit of the youth as much as he disliked his previous suspicions, met the apology frankly.  He extended his hand and forgot the feelings, that, even amid the tempests of those wild mountains, were excited by a distrust of his honesty.  After this short concession to the ever-burning, though smothered volcano, of human passion, they left the group together, in order to make a last search for their course.

The snow by this time was many inches deep, and as the road was at best but a faint bridle-path that could scarcely be distinguished by day-light from the debris which strewed the ravines, the undertaking would have been utterly hopeless, had not Pierre known that there was the chance of still meeting with some signs of the many mules that daily went up and down the mountain.  The guide called to the muleteers, who answered his cries every minute, for so long as they kept within the sound of each other’s voices, there was no danger of their becoming entirely separated.  But, amid the hollow roaring of the wind, and the incessant pelting of the storm, it was neither safe nor practicable to venture far asunder.  Several little stony knolls were ascended and descended, and a rippling rill was found, but without bringing with it any traces of the path.  The heart of Pierre began to chill with the decreasing; warmth of his body, and the firm old man, overwhelmed with his responsibility while his truant thoughts would unbidden recur to those whom he had left in his cottage at the foot of the mountain, gave way at last to his emotions in a paroxysm of grief, wringing his hands, weeping and calling loudly on God for succor.  This fearful evidence of their extremity worked upon the feelings of Sigismund until they were wrought up nearly to frenzy.  His great physical force still sustained him, and in an access of energy that was fearfully allied to madness, he rushed forward into the vortex of snow and hail, as if determined to leave all to the Providence of God, disappearing from the eyes of his companion.  This incident recalled the guide to his senses.  He called earnestly on the thoughtless youth to return.  No answer was given, and Pierre hastened back to the motionless and shivering party, in order to unite all their voices in a last effort to be heard.  Cry upon cry was raised, but each shout was answered merely by the hoarse rushing of the winds.

“Sigismund!  Sigismund!” called one after another, in hurried and alarmed succession.

“The noble boy will be irretrievably lost!” exclaimed the Signor Grimaldi, in despair, the services already rendered by the youth, together with his manly qualities, having insensibly and closely wound themselves around his heart.  “He will die a miserable death, and without the consolation of meeting his fate in communion with his fellow-sufferers!”

A shout from Sigismund came whirling past, as if the sound were embodied in the gale.