The flame in the east had died, but the tops of the larches were bathed in a gentle radiance; and the peaks ahead were like amber.  Everywhere were threads of water, threads of snow, and little threads of dewy green, glistening like gossamer.

Mr. Treffry called out:  “Give me your arm, Mr. Harz; I’d like to shake the reefs out of me.  When one comes to stand over at the knees, it’s no such easy matter, eh?” He groaned as he put his foot down, and gripped the young man’s shoulder as in a vise.  Presently he lowered himself on to a stone.

“‘All over now!’ as Chris would say when she was little; nasty temper she had too—­kick and scream on the floor!  Never lasted long though....  ‘Kiss her! take her up! show her the pictures!’ Amazing fond of pictures Chris was!” He looked dubiously at Harz; then took a long pull at his flask.  “What would the doctor say?  Whisky at four in the morning!  Well!  Thank the Lord Doctors aren’t always with us.”  Sitting on the stone, with one hand pressed against his side, and the other tilting up the flask, he was grey from head to foot.

Harz had dropped on to another stone.  He, too, was worn out by the excitement and fatigue, coming so soon after his illness.  His head was whirling, and the next thing he remembered was a tree walking at him, turning round, yellow from the roots up; everything seemed yellow, even his own feet.  Somebody opposite to him was jumping up and down, a grey bear—­with a hat—­Mr. Treffry!  He cried:  “Ha-alloo!” And the figure seemed to fall and disappear....

When Harz came to himself a hand was pouring liquor into his mouth, and a wet cloth was muffled round his brows; a noise of humming and hoofs seemed familiar.  Mr. Treffry loomed up alongside, smoking a cigar; he was muttering:  “A low trick, Paul—­bit of my mind!” Then, as if a curtain had been snatched aside, the vision before Harz cleared again.  The carriage was winding between uneven, black-eaved houses, past doorways from which goats and cows were coming out, with bells on their necks.  Black-eyed boys, and here and there a drowsy man with a long, cherry-stemmed pipe between his teeth, stood aside to stare.

Mr. Treffry seemed to have taken a new lease of strength; like an angry old dog, he stared from side to side.  “My bone!” he seemed to say:  “let’s see who’s going to touch it!”

The last house vanished, glowing in the early sunshine, and the carriage with its trail of dust became entombed once more in the gloom of tall trees, along a road that cleft a wilderness of mossgrown rocks, and dewy stems, through which the sun had not yet driven paths.

Dominique came round to them, bearing appearance of one who has seen better days, and a pot of coffee brewed on a spirit lamp.  Breakfast—­he said—­was served!

The ears of the horses were twitching with fatigue.  Mr. Treffry said sadly:  “If I can see this through, you can.  Get on, my beauties!”