Such was the outline of the view which presented itself to Sigismund, when he left the building to while away the time that must necessarily elapse before the arrival of the rest of the party.  The hour was still early, though the great altitude of the site of the convent had brought it beneath the influence of the sun’s rays an hour before.  He had learned from a servant of the Augustines, that a number of ordinary travellers, of whom in the fine season hundreds at a time frequently passed the night in their dormitories, were now breaking their fasts in the refectory of the peasants, and he was willing to avoid the questions that their curiosity might prompt when they came to hear what had occurred lower down on the mountain.  One of the brotherhood was caressing four or five enormous mastiffs, that were leaping about and barking with deep throats in front of the convent, while old Uberto moved among them with a gravity and respect that better suited his years.  Perceiving his guest, the Augustine quitted the dogs, and, lifting his eastern-looking cap, he gave him the salutation of the morning.  Sigismund met the frank smile of the canon, who like himself was young with a fit return.  The occasion was such as Sigismund desired, and a friendly discourse succeeded while they paced along the margin of the lake, holding the path that leads across the Col.

“You are young in your charitable office, brother,” remarked the soldier, when familiarity was a little established.  “This will be among the first of the winters you will have passed at your benevolent post?”

“It will make the eighth, as novice and as canon.  We are early trained to this kind of life, though no practice will enable any of us to withstand the effect which the thin air and intense cold produce on the lungs many winters in succession.  We go down to Martigny when there is occasion, and breathe an atmosphere better suited to man.  Thou hadst an angry storm below, the past night?”

“So angry, that we thank God it is over, and that we are left to share your hospitality.  Were there many on the mountain besides ourselves, or did any come up from Italy?”

“There were none but those who are now in the common refectory, and none came from Aoste.  The season for the traveller is over.  This is a month in which we see only those who are much pressed, and who have their reasons for trusting the weather.  In the summer we sometimes lodge a thousand guests.”

“They whom ye receive have reason to be thankful, reverend Augustine; for, in sooth, this does not seem a region that abounds in its fruits.”

Sigismund and the monk looked around at the vast piles of ragged naked rocks, and they smiled as their eyes met.

“Nature gives literally nothing,” answered the Augustine:  “even the fuel that warms us is transported leagues on the backs of mules, and thou wilt readily conceive that of all others this is a necessary we cannot forego.  Happily, we have some of our ancient, and what were once rich, endowments; and—­”