Marguerite motioned for Balthazar to precede her, and she prepared to quit the chapel.  On the threshold she turned and cast a lingering look at Sigismund and Christine.  The two latter were weeping in each other’s arms, and the soul of Marguerite yearned to mingle her tears with those she loved so well.  But, stern in her resolutions, she stayed the torrent of feeling which would have been so terrible in its violence had it broken loose, and followed her husband, with a dry and glowing eye.  They descended the mountain with a vacuum in their hearts which taught even this persecuted pair, that there are griefs in nature that surpass all the artificial woes of life.

The scene just related did not fail to disturb the spectators.  Maso dashed his hand across his eyes, and seemed touched with a stronger working of sympathy than it accorded with his present policy to show, while both Conrad and Pippo did credit to their humanity, by fairly shedding tears.  The latter, indeed, showed manifestations of a sensibility that is not altogether incompatible with ordinary recklessness and looseness of principle.  He even begged leave to kiss the hand of the bride, wishing her joy with fervor, as one who had gone through great danger in her company.  The whole party then separated with an exchange of cordial good feeling which proves that, however much men may be disposed to jostle and discompose their fellows in the great highway of life, nature has infused into their composition some great redeeming qualities to make us regret the abuses by which they have been so much perverted.

On quitting the chapel, the whole of the travellers made their dispositions to depart.  The bailiff and the chatelain went down towards the Rhone, as well satisfied with themselves as if they had discharged their trust with fidelity by committing Maso to prison, and discoursing as they rode along on the singular chances which had brought a son of the Doge of Genoa before them, in a condition so questionable.  The good Augustines helped the travellers who were destined for the other descent into their saddles, and acquitted themselves of the last act of hospitality by following the footsteps of the mules, with wishes for their safe arrival at Aoste.

The path across the Col has been already described.  It winds along the margin of the little lake, passing the site of the ancient temple of Jupiter at the distance of a few hundred yards from the convent.  Sweeping past the northern extremity of the little basin, where it crosses the frontiers of Piedmont, it cuts the ragged wall of rock, and, after winding en corniche for a short distance by the edge of a fearful ravine, it plunges at once towards the plains of Italy.

As there was a desire to have no unnecessary witnesses of Maso’s promised revelations, Conrad and Pippo had been advised to quit the mountain before the rest of the party, and the muleteers were requested to keep a little in the rear.  At the point where the path leaves the lake, the whole dismounted, Pierre going ahead with the beasts, with a view to make the first precipitous pitch from the Col on foot.  Maso now took the lead.  When he reached the spot where the convent is last in view, he stopped and turned to gaze at the venerable and storm-beaten pile.