The journey from Munich was not a long one, and during the latter part of it they had the wooden-seated third-class carriage to themselves.  Even the drowsy old peasant who nodded and slept in one corner got out with his bundles at last.  To Marco the mountains were long-known wonders which could never grow old.  They had always and always been so old!  Surely they had been the first of the world!  Surely they had been standing there waiting when it was said “Let there be Light.”  The Light had known it would find them there.  They were so silent, and yet it seemed as if they said some amazing thing—­something which would take your breath from you if you could hear it.  And they never changed.  The clouds changed, they wreathed them, and hid them, and trailed down them, and poured out storm torrents on them, and thundered against them, and darted forked lightnings round them.  But the mountains stood there afterwards as if such things had not been and were not in the world.  Winds roared and tore at them, centuries passed over them—­centuries of millions of lives, of changing of kingdoms and empires, of battles and world-wide fame which grew and died and passed away; and temples crumbled, and kings’ tombs were forgotten, and cities were buried and others built over them after hundreds of years—­and perhaps a few stones fell from a mountain side, or a fissure was worn, which the people below could not even see.  And that was all.  There they stood, and perhaps their secret was that they had been there for ever and ever.  That was what the mountains said to Marco, which was why he did not want to talk much, but sat and gazed out of the carriage window.

The Rat had been very silent all the morning.  He had been silent when they got up, and he had scarcely spoken when they made their way to the station at Munich and sat waiting for their train.  It seemed to Marco that he was thinking so hard that he was like a person who was far away from the place he stood in.  His brows were drawn together and his eyes did not seem to see the people who passed by.  Usually he saw everything and made shrewd remarks on almost all he saw.  But to-day he was somehow otherwise absorbed.  He sat in the train with his forehead against the window and stared out.  He moved and gasped when he found himself staring at the Alps, but afterwards he was even strangely still.  It was not until after the sleepy old peasant had gathered his bundles and got out at a station that he spoke, and he did it without turning his head.

“You only told me one of the two laws,” he said.  “What was the other one?”

Marco brought himself back from his dream of reaching the highest mountain-top and seeing clouds float beneath his feet in the sun.  He had to come back a long way.

“Are you thinking of that?  I wondered what you had been thinking of all the morning,” he said.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of it.  What was the second one?” said The Rat, but he did not turn his head.