At sunrise we sat down to a hearty meal, and amid the clamor of voices and rattling of platters, the elder Raoul unfolded to us his plans for reaching the valley, which both he and his brother had recognized as the higher level of the Arblen, several thousand feet above our present altitude, and in mid-winter a perilous place to visit.

“The spot is completely shut off from the valley by the cataract,” said he, “and last year a landslip blocked up the only route to it from the mountains.  How the child got there is a mystery!”

“We must cut our way over the Thurgau Pass,” cried Augustin.

“That is just my idea.  Quick now, if you have finished eating, call Georges and Albert, and take the ropes with you!”

Our little party was speedily equipped, and amid the lusty cheers of the men and the sympathetic murmurs of the women, we passed swiftly through the little snow-carpeted street and struck into the mountain path.  We were six in number, St. Aubyn and myself, the two Raouls, and a couple of villagers carrying the requisite implements of mountaineering, while the two dogs, Fritz and Bruno, trotted on before us.

At the outset there was some rough ground to traverse, and considerable work to be done with ropes and tools, for the slippery edges of the highland path afforded scarce any foothold, and in some parts the difficulties appeared well-nigh insurmountable.  But every fresh obstacle overcome added a new zest to our resolution, and, cheered by the reiterated cry of the two seers, “Courage, messieurs!  Avanfons!  The worst will soon be passed!” We pushed forward with right good will, and at length found ourselves on a broad rocky plateau.

All this time the two hounds had taken the lead, pioneering us with amazing skill round precipitous corners, and springing from crag to crag over the icy ravines with a daring and precision which curdled my blood to witness.  It was a relief to see them finally descend the narrow pass in safety, and halt beside us panting and exultant.  All around lay glittering reaches of untrodden snow, blinding to look at, scintillant as diamond dust.  We sat down to rest on some scattered boulders, and gazed with wonder at the magnificent vistas of glowing peaks towering above us, and the luminous expanse of purple gorge and valley, with the white, roaring torrents below, over which wreaths of foam-like filmy mist hovered and floated continually.

As I sat, lost in admiration, St. Aubyn touched my arm, and silently pointed to Theodor Raoul.  He had risen, and now stood at the edge of the plateau over-hanging the lowland landscape, his head raised, his eyes wide-opened, his whole appearance indicative of magnetic trance.  While we looked he turned slowly towards us, moved his hands to and fro with a gesture of uncertainty, as though feeling his way in the dark; and spoke with a slow dreamy utterance: