If there is in all the world as lovely a day's ride as that from Geneva to Chamouni, it must be the ride from Chamouni to Geneva. Lynde would not have made even this concession1 the next morning, as a heavy-wheeled carriage, containing three travellers and drawn2 by four stout3 Savoy horses, rolled through the Grande Place, and, amid a salvo of whip-lash and a cloud of dust, took the road to Bonneville.
"I did not think I cared very much for Geneva," said Miss Denham, leaning from the carriage side to look back at the little Swiss capital set so prettily4 on the blue edge of Lake Leman; "I did not think I cared for it at all; yet I leave it with a kind of home-leaving regret."
"That is because you found complete repose5 there, I imagine," said Lynde. "Geneva is blessed among foreign cities in having no rich picture-galleries, or famous cathedrals, or mouldy ruins covered all over with moss6 and history. In other places, you know, one is distracted by the things which it is one's imperative7 duty to see, and by the feeling that a lifetime is too short properly to see them. Coming from the great Italian cities to Geneva is like falling asleep after some prolonged mental strain. I do not object to waking up and leaving it, however. I should not mind leaving Eden, in pleasant company, on such a morning as this."
"The company, and I dare say the morning, are not insensible to your handsome compliment, Mr. Lynde."
The morning was without flaw, and the company, or at least that part of it represented by Miss Ruth Denham, had more color in its cheeks than usual, and its dark eyes looked very dark and melting under their long fringes. Mrs. Denham was also of a high complexion8, but, having a practical turn of mind, she was wondering whether the trunks, which rose like a monument from the footboard of the vehicle, were quite secure. It was a lumbering9, comfortable concern, with red and black wheels, and a maroon10 body set upon complicated springs. The back seat, occupied by the Denhams, was protected by a leather hood11, leaving the forward portion of the carriage open. The other seat was amicably12 shared between Lynde and a pile of waterproofs13 and woollen wraps, essentials in Switzerland, but which the ladies doubtless would have provided themselves if they had been in the tropics. On the high box in front sat the driver, speaking from time to time in low, confidential14 tones to the four powerful black horses, whose harnesses were lavishly15 hung with flaunting16 chamois-tails and made merry with innumerable silver bells.
For the last two weeks Lynde had been impatiently looking forward to this journey. The thought of having an entire day with Miss Denham, on such terms of intimacy17 as tacitly establish themselves between persons travelling together in the same carriage, had softened18 the prospect19 of the final parting at Chamouni; though now he did not intend they should separate there, unless she cruelly willed it. The nature of Miss Denham's regard for him Lynde had not fathomed20. She had been frank and friendly with him, as she might have been with a cousin or a person much older than herself. As he told Flemming, he had never had her a minute alone. The aunt had always accompanied them on their brief walks and excursions about Geneva; whenever she had been unable to do so, the excursion or the walk had been abandoned. Lynde saw, among other gracious things in this day's ride, a promising21 opportunity for a tete- a-tete with Miss Denham. Here and there, along the winding22 ascents23, would be tempting25 foot-paths, short pine--shaded cuts across the rocks, by which the carriage could be intercepted26 farther on. These five or ten minutes' walks, always made enchanting27 by some unlooked-for grove28, or grotto29, or cascade30, were nearly certain to lure31 Miss Ruth to her feet. Then he would have her to himself, for Mrs. Denham seldom walked when she could avoid it. To make assurance doubly sure Lynde could almost have wished her one of those distracting headaches from which hitherto he had suffered so keenly.
For the first few miles the road lay through a succession of villas32 and cultivated gardens; indeed, these gardens and villas extend all the way to Chene, where a thin ribbon of a stream, the Foron, draws the boundary line between the canton of Geneva and Savoy. At this point the scenery begins, not too aggressively, to be picturesque33; you catch some neat views of the Voirons, and of the range of the Jura lying on your right. Beyond is the village of Annemasse, and the Chateau34 of Etrambiere, with its quartette of towers, rises from the foot of the Petit-Saleve in the bluish-gray distance. You no longer see Mont Blanc, except at intervals35. Here and there a knot of hamlets clings to some fir-dotted slope, or tries to hide itself away in the bosom36 of a ravine. All these Alpine37 villages bear the same resemblance to one another as so many button- moulds of different sizes. Each has its quaint38 little church of stucco, surrounded by clusters of gray and dingy-white head-stones and crosses-- like a shepherd standing39 in the midst of his flock; each has its bedrabbled main street, with a great stone trough into which a stream of ice-cold water is forever flowing, and where comely40 young women of substantial ankles, with their flaxen hair braided down their backs, are forever washing linen41; each has its beggar, with a goitre or a wooden leg, lying in wait for you; and each, in turn, with its purple and green and red tiled roofs, is charming to approach and delightful42 to get away from.
After leaving Annemasse, the road runs up the valley of the Arve and crosses a bridge over the Menoge. Then comes the village of Nangy, and then Contamines, beyond which, on a bold height, stand the two wrinkled, crumbling43 towers of the ancient castle of Faucigny, whence the province takes its name. It was at Nangy that a pretty incident befell our travellers. On the outskirts44 of the village they met fifty or sixty school-children marching three abreast45, the girls on one side of the road and the boys on the other. The girls--each in a coarse blue or yellow frock, with a snowy neckerchief pinned over her bosom and a pig- tail of hair hanging down her shoulders--seemed for all the world like little old women; and not one of the little men appeared to be less than a hundred and five years old. They suggested a collection of Shems and Japhets, with their wives, taken from a lot of toy Noah's arks. As the carriage rolled between the two files, all the funny little women bobbed a simultaneous courtesy, and all the little old-fashioned men lifted their hats with the most irresistible46 gravity conceivable. "Fancy such a thing happening in the United States!" said Lynde. "If we were to meet such a crowd at home, half a dozen urchins47 would immediately fasten themselves to the hind48 axle, and some of the more playful spirits would probably favor us with a stone or two, or a snowball, according to the season."
"There comes the curee, now," said Miss Denham. "It is some Sunday- school fete."
As the curee, a florid, stout person, made an obeisance49 and passed on, fanning himself leisurely50 with his shovel-hat, his simple round face and white feathery hair put Lynde in mind of the hapless old gentleman whom he mistook for the country parson that morning so long ago. Instantly the whole scene rose before Lynde's vision. Perhaps the character of the landscape through which they were passing helped to make the recollection very vivid. There was not a cloud in the pale arch; yonder were the far-reaching peaks with patches of snow on them, and there stretched the same rugged51, forlorn hills, covered with dwarf52 bushes and sentinelled with phantom-like pines. An odd expression drifted across Lynde's countenance53.
"What are you smiling at, Mr. Lynde, in that supremely54 selfish manner?" inquired Mrs. Denham, looking at him from under her tilted55 sun-umbrella.
"Was I smiling? It was at those droll56 little beggars. They bowed and courtesied in an unconcerned, wooden way, as if they were moved by some ingenious piece of Swiss clock-work. The stiff old curee, too, had an air of having been wound up and set a-going. I could almost hear the creak of his mainspring. I was smiling at that, perhaps, and thinking how strongly the scenery of some portions of our own country resembles this part of Switzerland."
"Do you think so? I had not remarked it."
"This is not the least like anything in the Adirondack region, for example," observed Miss Ruth.
"It may be a mere57 fancy of mine," returned Lynde. "However, we have similar geological formations in the mountainous sections of New England; the same uncompromising Gothic sort of pines; the same wintry bleakness58 that leaves its impress even on the midsummer. A body of water tumbling through a gorge59 in New Hampshire must be much like a body of water tumbling through a gorge anywhere else."
"Undoubtedly60 all mountain scenery has many features in common," Mrs. Denham said; "but if I were dropped down on the White Hills, softly from a balloon, let us say, I should know in a second I was not in Switzerland."
"I should like to put you to the test in one spot I am familiar with," said Lynde.
"I should not like to be put to the test just at present," rejoined Mrs. Denham. "I am very simple in my tastes, and I prefer the Alps."
"Where in New England will you see such a picture as that?" asked Miss Ruth, pointing to a village which lay in the heart of the valley, shut in on the right by the jagged limestone61 rocks of the Brezon and on the left by the grassy62 slopes of the Mole63.
"Our rural towns lack color and architecture," said Lynde. "They are mostly collections of square or oblong boxes, painted white. I wish we had just one village composed exclusively of rosy-tiled houses, with staircases wantonly running up on the outside, and hooded64 windows, and airy balconies hanging out here and there where you don't expect them. I would almost overlook the total lack of drainage which seems to go along with these carved eaves and gables, touched in with their blues65 and browns and yellows. This must be Bonnevine we are coming to. We change horses here."
In a few minutes they swept through an avenue of noble trees, and stopped at the doorstep of an inn alive with passengers by the diligence just arrived from Sallanches, on its way to Geneva.
Lynde was beginning to feel a trifle out of spirits. The journey thus far had been very pleasant, but it had not wholly fulfilled his expectations. The Denhams had occupied themselves with the scenery; they had not been much inclined to talk; and Lynde had; found no opportunity to make himself especially agreeable. They had spoken several times of Flemming, in a vein67 of eulogy68. Lynde loved Flemming; but Flemming as a topic of conversation possessed69 no particular advantage over landscape. Miss Denham had never looked so lovely to Lynde as she did this day; he was glad to get her again in that closely fitting drab travelling-dress, laced up to the shapely white throat. A sense of great comfort had stolen over him the two or three times when she had sunk back in the carriage cushions and let her eyes dwell upon him contemplatively for a moment. He was beginning to hate Mrs. Denham, and he thoroughly70 loathed71 Bonneville, where a polyglot72 crowd of tourists came flocking into the small waiting-room just as Miss Ruth was putting up her hair and unconsciously framing for Lynde a never-to-be-forgotten picture in the little cracked inn-mirror.
Passengers by diligence usually dine at Bonneville, a fact which Lynde had ascertained73 when he selected Cluses, nine miles beyond, as the resting-place for his own party. They were soon on the road again, with the black horses turned into roan, traversing the level meadow lands between the Brezon and the Mole. With each mile, now, the landscape took on new beauty and wildness. The superb mountains--some with cloudy white turrets74, some thrusting out huge snow-powdered prongs, and others tapering75 to steely dagger76-points--hemmed them in on every side.
Here they came more frequently on those sorrowful roadside cairns, surmounted77 by a wooden cross with an obliterated78 inscription79 and a shrivelled wreath, marking the spot where some peasant or mountaineer had been crushed by a land-slide or smothered80 in the merciless winter drift. As the carriage approached Cluses, the road crept along the lips of precipices81 and was literally83 overhung by the dizzy walls of the Brezon. Crossing the Arve--you are always crossing the Arve or some mad torrent84 on your way from Geneva to Chamouni--the travellers entered the town of Cluses and alighted at one of those small Swiss hotels which continually astonish by their tidiness and excellence85.
In spite of the intermittent86 breeze wandering down from the regions above the snow-line, the latter part of the ride had been intensely hot. The cool, shadowy room, with its table ready laid for dinner near the latticed window, was a welcome change to the three dusty voyagers as they were ushered87 into it by the German landlord, whose round head thinly thatched with whitey-brown hair gave him the appearance of having been left out over night in a hoar frost. It was a refreshment88 in itself to look at him, so crisp and cool, with that blinding afternoon glare lying on the heated mountain-slopes.
"I could be contented89 here a month," said Mrs. Denham, throwing off her bonnet90, and seating herself in the embrasure of the window.
"The marquis allows us only three quarters of an hour," Lynde observed. "He says we cannot afford to lose much time if we want to reach Chamouni before sundown."
"Chamouni will wait for us."
"But the sunset won't."
Lynde had a better reason than that for wishing to press on. It was between there and Magland, or, rather, just beyond Magland, that he proposed to invite Miss Denham to walk. The wonderful cascade of Arpenaz, though it could be seen as well from the carriage, was to serve as pretext91. Of course he would be obliged to include Mrs. Denham in his invitation, and he had sufficient faith in the inconsistency of woman not to rely too confidently on her declining. "As she never walks, she'll come along fast enough," was Lynde's grim reflection.
He had by no means resolved on what he should say to Miss Ruth, if he got her alone. In the ten minutes' walk, which would be almost equivalent to a first interview, he could not say much. He could tell her how grieved he was at the thought of the approaching separation, and tell her in such a manner as would leave her in no great doubt as to the state of his feelings. But whether he went so far as that was a problem which he intended to let chance solve for him.
Lynde was standing on the inn steps with his after-dinner cheroot, meditatively92 blowing circles of smoke into the air, when the carriage drove round from the stable and the Denhams appeared in the doorway93. The young woman gave Lynde an ungloved hand as he assisted her to the seat. The slight pressure of her fingers and the touch of her rings were possessions which he retained until long after the carriage had passed that narrow defile94 near the stalactite cavern95 in the Balme, where a couple of tiresome96 fellows insist on letting off a small cannon97 for you, to awaken98 a very disobliging old Echo who refuses to repeat anything more than twice. What a magic there is in hands--in some hands! Lynde could have held Mrs. Denham's hand a fortnight without getting anything so tangible99 as that fleeting100 touch of Miss Ruth's.
"Is the grotto worth seeing?" Mrs. Denham asked, with a speculative101 glance up the mountain side.
"It is an hour's hard climb, and scarcely pays," replied Lynde, appalled102 by this indication of Alpine enterprise. "I visited it the first time I came over the road. You get a good look at the peaks of Mont Douron on the other side of the valley, and that's all; the grotto itself is not remarkable103. But I think it will be worth while to halt a moment when we come to the fall of Nant d'Arpenaz. That is really marvellous. It is said to be nearly as fine as the Staubbach."
As Miss Ruth leaned back in the cushions, lazily fastening the third button of her glove with a hair-pin, there was just the faintest glimmer104 of humor in the eyes that looked up into the young man's face. He was being read, and he knew it; his dark intentions in regard to that waterfall were probably as legible to her as if they had been printed in great-primer type on his forehead. On two or three occasions at Geneva she had wrested105 his unworded thought from him with the same effortless sorcery. Lynde evaded106 her look, and studied a spire-like peak on his left. "I shall have an air of detected villainy now, when I ask her," he mused107. "That's the first shade of coquetry I ever saw in her. If she accepts my invitation without the aunt, she means either to flirt108 with me or give me the chance to speak to her seriously. Which is it to be, Miss Ruth? I wonder if she is afraid of Mrs. Denham. Sometimes it seems to me she would be a different girl if it were not for the presence of the aunt."
By and by, at a bend of the road after passing Magland, the waterfall became visible in the distance. The cascade of Nant d'Arpenaz is one of the highest falls in Savoy, and if it is not the most beautiful, one can still well afford, having seen that, not to see the others. It is not a large volume of water, except when swollen109 by rains, as it happened to be this day, but its plunge110 from the dizzy brown cliff is the gracefulest thing in the world. The curiously111 stratified face of the precipice82 is concave, and the water has a fall of several hundred feet to reach the slope, which, indeed, it seems never to reach; for before the stream has accomplished112 half the descent it is broken into fine spray, and flaunts113 loosely in the wind like a veil of the most delicate lace, or, when the sunlight drifts through it, a wondrously114 wrought115 Persian scarf. There it appears to hang, miraculously116 suspended in mid- air, while in fact it descends117 in imperceptible vapors118 to the slope, where it re-forms and becomes a furious little torrent that dashes across the road under a bridge and empties itself into the Arve.
The carriage-road skirts the base of the mountain and offers numberless fine views of the cascade as you approach or leave it. It was directly in front of the fall, half a mile distant, though it did not look so far, that the driver, in obedience119 to previous instruction from Lynde, drew up the horses and halted. At that instant the sunshine slanted120 across the fall and dashed it with prismatic colors.
"I saw it once," Lynde said, "when I thought the effect even finer. I was induced by some pleasant English tourists to stop over night at Magland, and we walked up here in the moonrise. You can't imagine anything so lovely as that long strip of gossamer122 unfolding itself to the moonlight. There was an English artist with us, who made a sketch123 of the fall; but he said a prettier thing about it than his picture."
"What was that?" inquired Miss Ruth.
"He called it Penelope's web, because it is always being unravelled124 and reknitted."
"That artist mistook his profession."
"Folks often do," said Lynde. "I know painters who ought to be poets, and poets who ought to be bricklayers."
"Why bricklayers?"
"Because I fancy that bricklaying makes as slight drain on the imagination as almost any pursuit in life. Speaking of poets and waterfalls, do you remember Byron's daring simile125 in Manfred? He compares a certain waterfall at the foot of the Jungfrau to the tail of the pale horse ridden by Death in the Apocalypse. Mrs. Denham," said Lynde abruptly126, "the marquis tells me there's a delightful short cut, through the rocks here, which strikes into the road a mile further on."
"Let us take it then," answered Mrs. Denham, settling herself comfortably in the cushions.
"It is a foot-path," explained Lynde.
"Oh!"
"Our reputation as great American travellers will suffer, Mrs. Denham, if we fail to do a bit of Switzerland on foot. Rather than have that happen I would undertake the expedition alone. It would be mere martyrdom, though, without company." As Lynde turned the handle of the carriage door and planted his foot on the first step, he ventured a glance at Miss Ruth, who was sitting there with a face as impenetrable as that of the Memphian Sphinx.
"Certainly, if our reputation is at stake," exclaimed Mrs. Denham, rising with alacrity127. Lynde could not help his clouded countenance. "No," she added, slowly sinking back into the seat, "I've no ambition as an explorer. I really have not."
"And Miss Denham?" said Lynde, drawing a scarcely repressed breath of relief.
"Oh, Ruth can go if she likes," replied Mrs. Denham, "provided it is not too far."
"It is hardly an eighth of a mile across," said Lynde. "You will find us waiting for you at the opposite end of the cut, unless you drive rapidly. It is more than a mile by the road."
"Do you wish to go, Ruth?"
Miss Denham hesitated an instant, and then answered by rising impulsively128 and giving her hand to Lynde. Evidently, her first intention had been to refuse. In a moment more she was standing beside him, and the carriage was lazily crawling up the hill with Mrs. Denham looking back through her glass at the cascade.
A dozen rude steps, partly artificial and partly formed by the strata129 of the limestone bank, led from the roadside up to the opening of the foot- way. For thirty or forty yards the fern-fringed path was too narrow to admit of two persons walking abreast. Miss Denham, with her skirts gathered in one hand, went first, picking her way over the small loose stones rendered slippery by the moss, and Lynde followed on in silence, hardly able to realize the success of the ruse130 which had come so near being a failure. His companion was equally preoccupied131. Once she stopped for Lynde to detach her dress from a grasping twig132, and once to pluck one of those pallid133 waxen flowers which sometimes dauntlessly find a footing even among the snowdrifts of the higher Alps. The air was full of the resinous134 breath of the pines, whose boughs135, meeting and interlacing overhead, formed an arabesqued roof, through the openings of which the afternoon sunshine sifted136, as if through stained glass. With the slender stems of the trees rising on each side in the semi-twilight137, the grove was like the transept of a cathedral. It seemed a profanation138 to speak in such a place. Lynde could have wandered on forever in contented silence, with that tall, pliant139 figure in its severely140 cut drapery moving before him. As he watched the pure outline defining itself against the subdued141 light, he was reminded of a colored bas- relief he had seen on a certain Egyptian vase in the Museum at Naples. Presently the path widened, a brook142 babbled143 somewhere ahead among the rocks, and the grove abruptly ended. As Lynde stepped to Miss Denham's side he heaved a deep, involuntary sigh.
"What a sigh, Mr. Lynde!" she cried, swiftly turning upon him with a surprised smile. "It was scarcely complimentary144."
"It was not exactly a compliment; it was an unpremeditated monody on the death of this day, which has flown too soon."
"You are very ready with your monody; it yet lacks three or four hours of sunset, when one might probably begin to lament145. I am enjoying it all too much to have a regret."
"Do you know, I thought you were not enjoying it--the journey, I mean? You have not spoken a hundred words since we left Geneva."
"That was a proof of my perfect enjoyment146, as you would know if you knew me better. Fine scenery always affects me like music, and, with Jessica, 'I am never merry when I hear sweet music.' Besides, Mr. Lynde, I was forming a plan."
"A plan?"
"A dark conspiracy"--
"Is the spirit of Lucretia Borgia present?"
--"in which you are to be chief conspirator147, Mr. Lynde."
"Miss Denham, the person is dead, either by steel or poison; it is all one to me--I am equally familiar with both methods."
As the girl lifted up her eyes in a half-serious, half-amused way, and gave him a look in which gentleness and a certain shadow of hauteur148 were oddly blended, Lynde started in spite of himself. It was the very look of the poor little Queen of Sheba.
"With your bowl and dagger and monody," said Miss Denham, breaking into one of her rare laughs, "you are in full tragedy this afternoon. I am afraid my innocent plot will seem very tame to you in the face of such dreadful things."
"I promise beforehand to regard it as the one important matter in the world. What is it?"
"Nothing more than this: I want you to insist that aunt Gertrude and I ought to make the ascent24 of Montanvert and visit the Mer de Glace-- before uncle Denham arrives."
"Why, would he object?"
"I do not think anything would induce him to trust either of us on one of those narrow mule-paths."
"Uncle Denham once witnessed a painful accident on the Wetterhorn-- indeed, he himself barely escaped death; and any suggestion of mountain climbing that cannot be done on wheels always meets a negative from him. I suspect my aunt will not strongly favor the proposal, but when I make it I shall depend on you to sustain me."
"I shall surely do so, Miss Denham. I have had this same excursion in my mind all along."
"I was wondering how I should get the chance to ask the favor of you, when that special Providence150, which your friend Mr. Flemming pretends not to believe in, managed it for me."
"It wasn't I, then, but Providence, that invited you to walk?"
"It looks like it, Mr. Lynde."
"But at first you were disposed to reject the providential aid."
"I hesitated about leaving aunt Gertrude alone."
"If you had refused me, there would have been no end to my disappointment. This walk, though it is sixty or seventy miles too short, is the choicest thing in the whole journey."
"Come, Mr. Lynde, that is an improvement on your sigh."
"Does it occur to you that this is the first time we have chanced to be alone together, in all these weeks?"
"Yes," said Miss Ruth simply, "it is the first time."
"I am a great admirer of Mrs. Denham"--
"I do not see how you can help being; she is charming, and she likes you."
"But sometimes I have wished that--that Mr. Denham was here."
"Why?" asked Miss Ruth, regarding him full in the face.
Miss Denham did not reply for a moment.
"My aunt is very fond of me," she said gravely. "She never likes to have me absent an hour from her side."
"I can understand that," said Lynde, with an innocent air.
The girl glanced at him quickly, and went on: "She adopted me when I was only three years old; we have never been separated since. She lived in Paris all the time I was at school there, though she did not like Paris as a residence. She would make any sacrifice for me that a mother would make for a daughter. She has been mother and sister to me. I cannot overpay her devotion by any unselfishness of mine."
As she spoke66, Lynde caught a hateful glimpse of the road through the stubby pine-trees beyond. It appeared to him only two minutes ago that he was assisting Miss Denham to mount the stone steps at the other extremity152 of the foot-path; and now he was to lose her again. She was with him alone for perhaps the last time.
"Miss Ruth!" said Lynde, with sudden earnestness in his voice. He had never before addressed her as Miss Ruth. She raised her eyes furtively153 to his face. "Miss Ruth"--
"Oh, there's the carriage, Mr. Lynde!" exclaimed Miss Denham, releasing the arm she had accepted a few paces back, and hurrying down the path, which here narrowed again as at the entrance to the grove. "And there is aunt Gertrude," she added, half turning to Lynde, with a rich bloom on her cheeks, "looking as distressed154 as if we had slipped over some precipice. But we have not, have we, Mr. Lynde?"
"No, we haven't slipped over any precipices," answered Lynde, with a curt155 laugh. "I wish we had," he muttered to himself. "She has dragged me through that grove and over those stones, and, without preventing me, has not permitted me to breathe the least word of love to her. I don't know how she did it. That girl's the most consummate156 coquette I ever saw. I am a child in her hands. I believe I'm beginning to be afraid of her."
Miss Ruth was already in the carriage, pinning the Alpine flower to the corsage of her aunt's dress, when Lynde reached the steps. Mrs. Denham's features expressed no very deep anxiety that he could discover. That was clearly a fiction of Miss Ruth's. Lynde resumed his place on the front seat, and the horses started forward. He was amused and vexed157 at the inconsequence of his interview with Miss Denham, and did not know whether to be wholly vexed or wholly amused. He had, at least, broken the ice, and it would be easier for him to speak when another opportunity offered. She had understood, and had not repulsed158 him; she had merely evaded him. Perhaps he had been guilty of a mismove in attempting to take her at a disadvantage. He was too discreet159 to dream of proposing any more walks. A short cut was plainly not the most direct way to reach Miss Denham.
She was in livelier spirits now than she had been in at any time during the day. "The exercise has done you good, Ruth," remarked Mrs. Denham; "I am sorry I did not accept Mr. Lynde's invitation myself." Mr. Lynde was also politely sorry, and Miss Ruth contributed her regrets with an emphasis that struck Lynde as malicious160 and overdone161.
Shortly before arriving at St. Martin, Miss Ruth broached162 her Montanvert project, which, as she had prophesied163, was coldly received by the aunt. Lynde hastened to assure Mrs. Denham that the ascent was neither dangerous nor difficult. Even guides were not necessary, though it was convenient to have them to lead the animals. On the way up there were excellent views of the Flegere and the Brevent. There was a capital inn at the summit, where they could lunch, and from the cliff behind the inn one could look directly down on the Mer de Glace. Then Lynde fell back upon his Murray and Baedeker. It was here that Professor Tyndall spent many weeks, at different times, investigating the theory of glacier164 motion; and the Englishman's hut, which Goethe mentions in his visit to the scene in 1779, was still standing. Miss Ruth begged with both eyes; the aunt wavered, and finally yielded. As a continuance of fine weather could not be depended on, it was agreed that they should undertake the ascent the following morning immediately after daybreak. Then the conversation drooped165.
The magnificent scenery through which their route now wound began to absorb them. Here they crossed a bridge, spanning a purple chasm166 whose snake-like thread of water could be heard hissing167 among the sharp flints a hundred feet below; now they rattled168 through the street of a sleepy village that seemed to have no reason for being except its picturesqueness169; now they were creeping up a tortuous170 steep gloomed by menacing crags; and now their way lingered for miles along a precipice, over the edge of which they could see the spear-like tips of the tall pines reaching up from the valley.
At the bridge between St. Martin and Sallanches the dazzling silver peaks of Mont Blanc, rising above the green pasturage of the Forclaz, abruptly revealed themselves to the travellers, who fancied for the moment that they were close upon the mountain. It was twelve miles away in a bee-line. From this point one never loses sight of those vast cones171 and tapering aiguilles. A bloom as delicate as that of the ungathered peach was gradually settling on all the fairy heights.
As the travellers drew nearer to the termination of their journey, they were less and less inclined to converse172. At every turn of the sinuous173 road fresh splendors174 broke upon them. By slow degrees the glaciers175 became visible: first those of Gria and Taconay; then the Glacier des Boissons, thrusting a crook176 of steel-blue ice far into the valley; and then--faintly discernible in the distance, and seemingly a hand's breadth of snow framed by the sombre gorge--the Glacier des Bois, a frozen estuary177 of the Mer de Glace.
The twilight was now falling. For the last hour or more the three inmates178 of the carriage had scarcely spoken. They had unresistingly given themselves over to the glamour179 of the time and place. Along the ravines and in the lower gorges180 and chasms181 the gray dusk was gathering182; high overhead the domes183 and pinnacles184 were each instant taking deeper tinges185 of rose and violet. It seemed as if a word loudly or carelessly uttered would break the spell of the alpgluhen. It was all like a dream, and it was in his quality of spectral186 figure in a dream that the driver suddenly turned on the box, and, pointing over his shoulder with the handle of his whip said--
"Chamouni!"
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1
concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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4
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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5
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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6
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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7
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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8
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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9
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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10
maroon
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| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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11
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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12
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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13
waterproofs
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| n.防水衣物，雨衣 usually plural( waterproof的名词复数 )v.使防水，使不透水( waterproof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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14
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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15
lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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16
flaunting
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| adj.招摇的，扬扬得意的，夸耀的v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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17
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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18
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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19
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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20
fathomed
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| 理解…的真意( fathom的过去式和过去分词 )； 彻底了解； 弄清真相 | |
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21
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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22
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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23
ascents
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| n.上升( ascent的名词复数 )；（身份、地位等的）提高；上坡路；攀登 | |
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24
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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25
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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26
intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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27
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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28
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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29
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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30
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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31
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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32
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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33
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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34
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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35
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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36
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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37
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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38
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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39
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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40
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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41
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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42
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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43
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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44
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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45
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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46
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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47
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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48
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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49
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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50
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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51
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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52
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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53
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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54
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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55
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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56
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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57
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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58
bleakness
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| adj. 萧瑟的, 严寒的, 阴郁的 | |
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59
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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60
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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61
limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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62
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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63
mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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64
hooded
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|
| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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65
blues
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| n.抑郁，沮丧；布鲁斯音乐 | |
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66
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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67
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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68
eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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69
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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70
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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71
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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72
polyglot
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|
| adj.通晓数种语言的；n.通晓多种语言的人 | |
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73
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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75
tapering
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|
| adj.尖端细的 | |
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76
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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77
surmounted
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|
| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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78
obliterated
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|
| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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79
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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80
smothered
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|
| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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81
precipices
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|
| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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82
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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83
literally
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|
| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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84
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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85
excellence
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|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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86
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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87
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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89
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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90
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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91
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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92
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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93
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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94
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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95
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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96
tiresome
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|
| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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97
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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98
awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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99
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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100
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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101
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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102
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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103
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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104
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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105
wrested
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| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
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106
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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107
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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108
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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109
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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110
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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111
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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112
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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113
flaunts
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的第三人称单数 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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114
wondrously
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| adv.惊奇地，非常，极其 | |
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115
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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116
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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117
descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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118
vapors
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| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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119
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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120
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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121
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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122
gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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123
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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124
unravelled
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| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的过去式和过去分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
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125
simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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126
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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127
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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128
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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129
strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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130
ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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131
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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132
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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133
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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134
resinous
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| adj.树脂的，树脂质的，树脂制的 | |
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135
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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136
sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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137
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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138
profanation
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| n.亵渎 | |
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139
pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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140
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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141
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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142
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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143
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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144
complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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145
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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146
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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147
conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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148
hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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149
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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150
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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151
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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152
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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153
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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154
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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155
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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156
consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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157
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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158
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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159
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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160
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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161
overdone
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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162
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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163
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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165
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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166
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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167
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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168
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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169
picturesqueness
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170
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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171
cones
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| n.（人眼）圆锥细胞；圆锥体( cone的名词复数 )；球果；圆锥形东西；（盛冰淇淋的）锥形蛋卷筒 | |
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172
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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173
sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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174
splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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175
glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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176
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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177
estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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178
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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179
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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180
gorges
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| n.山峡，峡谷( gorge的名词复数 )；咽喉v.（用食物把自己）塞饱，填饱( gorge的第三人称单数 )；作呕 | |
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181
chasms
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| 裂缝( chasm的名词复数 )； 裂口； 分歧； 差别 | |
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182
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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183
domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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184
pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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185
tinges
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| n.细微的色彩，一丝痕迹( tinge的名词复数 ) | |
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186
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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