“Oh, Hilary!” she cried, and put the thought from her.

“I was thinking,” he said, “that if you were not tired we might walk across the fields to Michel’s house.  He would, I think, be very happy if we did.”

A few minutes later they knocked upon Michel’s door.  Michel Revailloud opened it himself and stood for a moment peering at the dim figures in the darkness of the road.

“It is I, Michel,” said Chayne, and at the sound of his voice Michel Revailloud drew him with a cry of welcome into the house.

“So you have come back to Chamonix, monsieur!  That is good”; and he looked his “monsieur” over from head to foot and shook him warmly by the hand.  “Ah, you have come back!”

“And not alone, Michel,” said Chayne.

Revailloud turned to the door and saw Sylvia standing there.  She was on the threshold and the light reached to her.  Sylvia moved into the low-roofed room.  It was a big, long room, bare, and with a raftered ceiling, and since one oil lamp lighted it, it was full of shadows.  To Chayne it had a lonely and a dreary look.  He thought of his own house in Sussex and of the evening he had passed there, thinking it just as lonely.  He felt perhaps at this moment, more than at any, the value of the great prize which he had won.  He took her hand in his, and, turning to Michel, said simply: 

“We are married, Michel.  We reached Chamonix only this evening.  You are the first of our friends to know of our marriage.”

Michel’s face lighted up.  He looked from one to the other of his visitors and nodded his head once or twice.  Then he blew his nose vigorously.  “But I let you stand!” he cried, in a voice that shook a little, and he bustled about pushing chairs forward, and of a sudden stopped.  He came forward to Sylvia very gravely and held out his hand.  She put her hand into his great palm.

“Madame, I will not pretend to you that I am not greatly moved.  This is a great happiness to me,” he said with simplicity.  He made no effort to hide either the tears which filled his eyes or the unsteadiness of his voice.  “I am very glad for the sake of Monsieur Chayne.  But I know him well.  We have been good friends for many a year, madame.”

“I know, Michel,” she said.

“And I can say therefore with confidence I am very glad for your sake too.  I am also very glad for mine.  A minute ago I was sitting here alone—­now you are both here and together.  Madame, it was a kind thought which brought you both here to me at once.”

“To whom else should we come?” said Sylvia with a smile, “since it was you, Michel, who would not let me ascend the Aiguille des Charmoz when I wanted to.”

Michel was taken aback for a moment; then his wrinkled and weatherbeaten face grew yet more wrinkled and he broke into a low and very pleasant laugh.