A tremendous shout of Sigismund’s interrupted Maso,—­the youth, on finding that the accidental meeting with the mariner was not likely to lead to any immediate advantages, having instantly, accompanied by Pierre and one of his assistants, renewed the search.  The cry was echoed from the guide and the muleteer, and then all three were seen flying through the snow, preceded by a powerful mastiff.  Nettuno, who had been crouching with his bushy tail between his legs, barked, seemed to arouse with renewed courage, and then leaped with evident joy and good-will upon the back of his old antagonist Uberto.

The dog of St. Bernard was alone.  But his air and all his actions were those of an animal whose consciousness was wrought up to the highest pitch permitted by the limits nature had set to the intelligence of a brute.  He ran from one to another, rubbed his glossy and solid side against the limbs of all, wagged his tail, and betrayed the usual signs that creatures of his species manifest, when their instinct is most alive.  Luckily he had a good interpreter of his meaning in the guide, who, knowing the habits, and, if it may be so expressed, the intentions of the mastiff, feeling there was not a moment to lose if they would still preserve the feebler members of their party, begged the others to hasten the necessary dispositions to profit by this happy meeting.  The females were supported as before, the mules fastened together, and Pierre, placing himself in front, called cheerfully to the dog, encouraging him to lead the way.

“Is it quite prudent to confide so implicitly to the guidance of this brute?” asked the Signor Grimaldi a little doubtingly, when he saw the arrangement on which, by the increasing gloom and the growing intensity of the cold, it was but too apparent, even to one as little accustomed to the mountains as himself, that the lives of the whole party depended.

“Fear not to trust to old Uberto, Signore,” answered Pierre, moving onward as he spoke, for to think of further delay was out of the question; “fear nothing for the faith or the knowledge of the dog.  These animals are trained by the servants of the convent to know and keep the paths, even when the snows lie on them fathoms deep.  God has given them stout hearts, long limbs, and short hair expressly, as it has often seemed to me, for this end; and nobly do they use the gifts!  I am acquainted with all their ways, for we guides commonly learn the ravines of St. Bernard by first serving the claviers of the convent, and many a day have I gone up and down these rocks with a couple of these animals in training for this very purpose.  The father and mother of Uberto were my favorite companions, and their son will hardly play an old friend of the family false.”

The travellers followed their leader with more confidence, though blindly.  Uberto appeared to perform his duty with the sobriety and steadiness that became his years, and which, indeed, were very necessary for the circumstances in which they were placed.  Instead of bounding ahead and becoming lost to view, as most probably would have happened with a younger animal, the noble and half-reasoning brute maintained a pace that was suited to the slow march of those who supported the females, occasionally stopping to look back, as if to make sure that none were left.