“When I went down to the sitting-room I found my hosts seated at table, about to begin breakfast.

“‘We have been waiting for you,’ cried Young gaily.

“‘You must excuse us,’ said the mother; ’this is our regular breakfast hour.’

“’Of course, of course; I am obliged to you for not noticing my laziness.’

“Raesel was much more lively than the preceding evening; she had a fresh colour in her cheeks.

“‘The wind has gone down,’ said she; ’the storm has passed away without doing any harm.’

“‘Shall I open the apiary?’ asked Young.

“’No, not yet; the bees would lose themselves in this mist.  Besides, everything is drenched with rain; the brambles and mosses are full of water; the least puff of wind would drown many of them.  We must wait a little while.  I know what is the matter:  they feel dull, they want to work; they are tormented at the idea of devouring their honey instead of making it.  But I cannot afford to lose them.  Many of the hives are weak—­they would starve in winter.  We will see what the weather is like to-morrow.’

“The two old people sat and listened without making any observations.

“About nine the blind girl proposed to go and visit her bees; Young and Catherine followed her, and I did the same, from a very natural feeling of curiosity.

“We passed through the kitchen by a door which opened on to a terrace.  Above us was the roof of the apiary; it was of thatch, and from its ledge honeysuckle and wild grapes hung in magnificent festoons.  The hives were arranged on three shelves.

“Raesel went from one to the other, patting them, and murmuring—­

“’Have a little patience; there is too much mist this morning.  Ah! the greedy ones, how they grumble!’

“And we could hear a vague humming inside the hive, which increased in intensity until she had passed.

“That awoke all my curiosity once more.  I felt there was some strange mystery which I could not fathom, but what was my surprise, when, as I went into the sitting-room, I heard the blind girl say in a melancholy tone of voice—­

“’No, father, I would rather not see at all to-day than lose my eyes.  I will sing, I will do something or other to pass the time, never mind what; but I will not let the bees out.’

“While she was speaking in this strange manner I looked at Walter Young, who glanced out of the window and then quietly replied—­

“’You are right, child; I think you are right.  Besides, there is nothing to see; the valley is quite white.  It is not worth looking at.’

“And while I sat astounded at what I heard, the child continued—­

“’What lovely weather we had the day before yesterday!  Who would have thought that a storm on the lake would have caused all this mist?  Now one must fold up its wings and crawl about like a wretched caterpillar.’

“Then again, after a few moments’ silence—­