Whereupon Le Mire laughed with such frank enjoyment of the boy’s simplicity that I couldn’t help but join her.

“And now,” said Harry, “I suppose you want to know—­”

“I want to know nothing—­at present,” I interrupted.  “It’s nearly six o’clock, and since ten last night I’ve been on top of the most perfectly imbecile donkey ever devised by nature.  I want breakfast.”

Velvet lids were upraised from Le Mire’s eyes.  “Here?” she queried.

I pointed to the place—­extreme charity might give it the title of inn—­where smoke was rising from a tin chimney.

Soon we were seated inside with a pot of steaming black coffee before us.  Harry was bubbling over with gaiety and good will, evidently occasioned by my unexpected friendliness, while Le Mire sat for the most part silent.  It was easy to see that she was more than a little disturbed by my arrival, which surprised me.

I gazed at her with real wonder and increasing admiration.  It was six in the morning; she had had no sleep, and had just finished a most fatiguing journey of some eight hours; but I had never seen her so beautiful.

Our host approached, and I turned to him: 

“What have you?”

There was pity in his glance.

“Aigs,” said he, with an air of finality.

“Ah!” said Le Mire.  “I want them—­let’s see—­au beurre noire, if you please.”

The man looked at her and uttered the single word:  “Fried.”

“Fried?” said she doubtfully.

“Only fried,” was the inexorable answer.  “How many?”

Le Mire turned to me, and I explained.  Then she turned again to the surly host with a smile that must have caused him to regret his gruffness.

“Well, then, fr-r-ied!” said she, rolling the “r” deliciously.  “And you may bring me five, if you please.”

It appeared that I was not the only hungry one.  We ate leisurely and smoked more leisurely still, and started on our return journey a little before eight o’clock.

It was late in the afternoon when we arrived at the Antlers.  The trip was accomplished without accident, but Le Mire was thoroughly exhausted and Harry was anything but fresh.  That is the worst of mountain climbing:  the exaltation at the summit hardly pays you for the reaction at the foot.  We entered the broad portico with frank sighs of relief.

I said something about joining them at dinner and left for my own rooms.

At dinner that evening Harry was in high spirits and took great delight in everything that was said, both witty and dull, while Le Mire positively sparkled.

She made her impression; not a man in the well-filled room but sent his tribute of admiring glances as she sat seemingly unconscious of all but Harry and myself.  That is always agreeable; a man owes something to the woman who carries a room for him.

I had intended to have a talk with Harry after dinner, but I postponed it; the morning would assuredly be better.  There was dancing in the salon, but we were all too tired to take advantage of it; and after listening to one or two numbers, during which Le Mire was kept busy turning aside the importunities of would-be partners, we said good night and sought our beds.