“Very well,” she said.  “It shall be the Aiguille d’Argentiere.”

Michel went upon his way out of Chamonix and across the fields.  They would be sure to speak, those two, to-morrow at the Pavillon de Lognan.  If only there were no other party there in that small inn!  Michel’s hopes took a leap and reached beyond the Pavillon de Lognan.  To ascend one’s first mountain—­yes, that was enviable and good.  But one should have a companion with whom one can live over again the raptures of that day, in the after time.  Well—­perhaps—­perhaps!

Michel pushed open the door of his cottage, and lit his lamp, without after all bethinking him that the room was dark and empty.  His ice-axes stood in a corner, the polished steel of their adz-heads gleaming in the light; his Ruecksack and some coils of rope hung upon pegs; his book with the signatures and the comments of his patrons lay at his elbow on the table, a complete record of his life.  But he was not thinking that they had served him for the last time.  He sat down in his chair and so remained for a little while.  But a smile was upon his face, and once or twice he chuckled aloud as he thought of his high diplomacy.  He did not remember at all that to-morrow he would lead mules up to the Montanvert and conduct parties on the Mer de Glace.

CHAPTER VI

THE PAVILLON DE LOGNAN

The Pavillon de Lognan is built high upon the southern slope of the valley of Chamonix, under the great buttresses of the Aiguille Verte.  It faces the north and from the railed parapet before its door the path winds down through pastures bright with Alpine flowers to the pine woods, and the village of Les Tines in the bed of the valley.  But at its eastern end a precipice drops to the great ice-fall of the Glacier d’Argentiere, and night and day from far below the roar of the glacier streams enters in at the windows and fills the rooms with the music of a river in spate.

At five o’clock on the next afternoon, Chayne was leaning upon the rail looking straight down to the ice-fall.  The din of the torrent was in his ears, and it was not until a foot sounded lightly close behind him that he knew he was no longer alone.  He turned round and saw to his surprise the over-dainty doll of the Annemasse buffet, the child of the casinos and the bathing beaches, Sylvia Thesiger.  His surprise was very noticeable and Sylvia’s face flushed.  She made him a little bow and went into the chalet.

Chayne noticed a couple of fresh guides by the door of the guides’ quarters.  He remembered the book which he had seen her reading with so deep an interest in the buffet.  And in a minute or two she came out again on to the earth platform and he saw that she was not overdressed to-day.  She was simply and warmly dressed in a way which suggested business.  On the other hand she had not made herself ungainly.  He guessed her mountain and named it to her.