a week later, i met m. claude again. he was a very nice young fellow, there was not a doubt of that. he was intelligent, well educated, manly, with all the honest, sturdy, independent swiss nature clearly visible in his frank, bright, open face. i have seldom met a man whom i liked better at first sight than m. claude, and after he had gone away i felt more than a little ashamed of myself to think i had been half trying to steal away isaline's heart from this good fellow, without really having any deliberate design upon it myself. it began to strike me that i had been doing a very dirty, shabby thing.

"charlie, my boy," i said to myself, as i sat fishing with bottom bait and dangling my legs over the edge of a pool, "you've been flirting with this pretty little swiss girl; and what's worse, you've been flirting in a very bad[pg 233] sort of way. she's got a lover of her own; and you've been trying to make her feel dissatisfied with him, for no earthly reason. you've taken advantage of your position and your fancied london airs and graces to run down by implication a good fellow who really loves her and would probably make her an excellent husband. don't let this occur again, sir." and having thus virtuously resolved, of course i went away and flirted with isaline next morning as vigorously as ever.

during the following fortnight, m. claude came often, and i could not disguise from myself the fact that m. claude did not quite like me. this was odd, for i liked him very much. i suppose he took me for a potential rival: men are so jealous when they are in love. besides, i observed that isaline tried not to be thrown too much with him alone; tried to include me in the party wherever she went with him. also, i will freely confess that i felt myself every day more fond of isaline's society, and i half fancied i caught myself trepidating a little inwardly now and then when she happened to come up to me. absurd to be so susceptible; but such is man.

one lovely day about this time i set out once more to try my hand (or rather my feet) alone upon the aiguille. isaline put me up a nice little light lunch in my knapsack, and insisted upon seeing that my alpenstock was firmly shod, and my pedestrian boots in due climbing order. in fact, she loudly lamented my perversity in attempting to make the ascent without a guide; and she must even needs walk with me as far as the little bridge over the torrent beside the snow line, to point me out the road the guides generally took to the platform at the summit. for myself, i was a practised mountaineer, and felt no fear for the result. as i left her for the ice, she stood a long time looking and waving me the right road with her little pocket-handkerchief; while as long as i could hear her voice she kept on exhorting me to be very careful. "ah,[pg 234] if monsieur would only have taken a guide! you don't know how dangerous that little aiguille really is."

the sun was shining brightly on the snow; the view across the valley of the rhone towards the snowy alps beyond was exquisite; and the giants of the bernese oberland stood out in gloriously brilliant outline on the other side against the clear blue summer sky. i went on alone, enjoying myself hugely in my own quiet fashion, and watching isaline as she made her way slowly along the green path, looking round often and again, till she disappeared in the shadow of the pinewood that girt round the tiny village. on, farther still, up and up and up, over soft snow for the most part; with very little ice, till at last, after three hours' hard climbing, i stood on the very summit of the pretty aiguille. it was not very high, but it commanded a magnificent view over either side—the alps on one hand, the counterchain of the oberland on the other, and the blue lake gleaming and glowing through all its length in its green valley between them. there i sat down on the pure snow in the glittering sunlight, and ate the lunch that isaline had provided for me, with much gusto. unfortunately, i also drank the pint of white wine from the head of the lake—yvorne, we call it, and i grow it now in my own vineyard at pic de la baume—but that is anticipating again: as good a light wine as you will get anywhere in europe in these depressing days of blight and phylloxera. now, a pint of vin du pays is not too much under ordinary circumstances for a strong young man in vigorous health, doing a hard day's muscular work with legs, arms, and sinews: but mountain air is thin and exhilarating in itself, and it lends a point to a half-bottle of yvorne which the wine's own body does not by any means usually possess. i don't mean to say so much light wine does one any positive harm; but it makes one more careless and easy-going; gives one a false sense of security, and entices one into paying less[pg 235] heed to one's footsteps or to suspicious-looking bits of doubtful ice.

well, after lunch i took a good look at the view with my field-glass; and when i turned it towards les pentes i could make out our farmhouse distinctly, and even saw isaline standing on the balcony looking towards the aiguille. my heart jumped a little when i thought that she was probably looking for me. then i wound my way down again, not by retracing my steps, but by trying a new path, which seemed to me a more practicable one. it was not the one isaline had pointed out, but it appeared to go more directly, and to avoid one or two of the very worst rough-and-tumble pieces.

i was making my way back, merrily enough, when suddenly i happened to step on a little bit of loose ice, which slid beneath my feet in a very uncomfortable manner. before i knew where i was, i felt myself sliding rapidly on, with the ice clinging to my heel; and while i was vainly trying to dig my alpenstock into a firm snowbank, i became conscious for a moment of a sort of dim indefinite blank. it was followed by a sensation of empty space; and then i knew i was falling over the edge of something.

whrrr, whrrr, whrrr, went the air at my ear for a moment; and the next thing i knew was a jar of pain, and a consciousness of being enveloped in something very soft. the jar took away all other feeling for a few seconds; i only knew i was stunned and badly hurt. after a time, i began to be capable of trying to realize the position; and when i opened my eyes and looked around me, i recognized that i was lying on my back, and that there was a pervading sensation of whiteness everywhere about. in point of fact, i was buried in snow. i tried to move, and to get on my legs again, but two things very effectually prevented me. in the first place, i could not stir my legs without giving myself the most[pg 236] intense pain in my spine; and in the second place, when i did stir them i brought them into contact on the one hand with a solid wall of rock, and on the other hand with vacant space, or at least with very soft snow unsupported by a rocky bottom. gradually, by feeling about with my arms, i began exactly to realize the gravity of the position. i had fallen over a precipice, and had lighted on a snow-covered ledge half-way down. my back was very badly hurt, and i dared not struggle up on to my legs for fear of falling off the ledge again on the other side. besides, i was half smothered in the snow, and even if anybody ever came to look for me (which they would not probably do till to-morrow) they would not be able to see me, because of the deep-covering drifts. if i was not extricated that night, i should probably freeze to death before morning, especially after my pint of wine. "confound that yvorne!" i said to myself savagely. "if ever i get out of this scrape i'll never touch a drop of the stuff again as long as i live." i regret to say that i have since broken that solemn promise twice daily for the past three years.

my one hope was that isaline might possibly be surprised at my delay in returning, and might send out one of the guides to find me.

so there i lay a long time, unable even to get out of the snow, and with every movement causing me a horrid pain in my injured back. still, i kept on moving my legs every now and then to make the pain shoot, and so prevent myself from feeling drowsy. the snow half suffocated me, and i could only breathe with difficulty. at last, slowly, i began to lose consciousness, and presently i suppose i fell asleep. to fall asleep in the snow is the first stage of freezing to death.