Two, three, four days passed without Count Larinski reappearing at the Hotel Badrutt, where every evening he was expected.This prolonged absence keenly affected Mlle.Moriaz.She sought an explanation thereof; the search occupied part of her days, and troubled her sleep.
She had too much character not to conceal her trouble and anxiety.
Those about her had not the least suspicion that she asked herself a hundred times in the twenty-four hours: "Why does he not come? will he never come again? is it a fixed resolution? Does he blame us for drawing out, by our questions, the secret of his life? or does he suspect that I have discovered him to be the writer of the anonymous letter? Will he leave Engadine without bidding us good-bye? Perhaps he has already gone, and we shall never see him again." This thought caused Mlle.Moriaz a heart-burn that she had never before experienced.Her day had come; her heart was no longer free: the bird had allowed itself to be caught.
Mlle.Moiseney said to her one evening: "It seems certain to me that we never shall see Count Larinski again."She replied in an almost indifferent tone, "No doubt he has found people at Cellarina, or elsewhere, who are more entertaining than we.""You mean to say," said Mlle.Moiseney, "that M.Moriaz and the /bezique/ has frightened him away.I would not for worlds speak ill of your father; he has all the good qualities imaginable, except a certain delicacy of sentiment, which is not to be learned in dealing with acids.Think of condemning a Count Larinski to play /bezique/!
There are some things that your father does not and never will understand."M.Moriaz had entered meanwhile."Please oblige me by explaining what it is that I do not understand," said he to Mlle.Moiseney.
She replied with some embarrassment, "You do not understand, monsieur, that certain visits were a charming diversion to us, and that now we miss them.""And do you think that I do not miss them? It has been four days since I have had a game of cards.But how can it be helped? Poles are fickle --more fools they who trust them.""It may be simply that M.Larinski has been ill," interrupted Antoinette, with perfect tranquility."I think, father, that it would be right for us to make inquiries."The following day M.Moriaz went to Cellarina.He brought back word that M.Larinski had gone on a walking-excursion through the mountains; that he had started out with the intention of climbing to the summit of Piz-Morteratsch, and of attempting the still more difficult ascent of Piz-Roseg.Mlle.Moriaz found it hard to decide whether this news was good or bad news.All depended on what point of view was taken, and she changed hers every hour.
Since his mishap, M.Moriaz had become less rash than formerly.
Experience had taught him that there are treacherous rocks that can be climbed without much difficulty, but from which it is impossible to descend--rocks exposing one to the danger of ending one's days in their midst, if there is no Pole near at hand.Certain truths stamp themselves indelibly on the mind; so M.Moriaz never ventured again on the mountains without being attended by a guide, who received orders from Antoinette not to leave him, and not to let him expose himself.
One day he came in later than usual, and his daughter reproached him, with some vivacity, for the continual anxiety he caused her."The glaciers and precipices will end by giving me the nightmare," she said to him.
"Pray on whose account, my dear?" he playfully rejoined."I assure you the ascent that I have just made was neither more difficult nor more dangerous than that of Montmartre, nor of the Sannois Hill, and as to glaciers, I have firmly resolved to keep shy of them.I have passed the age of prowess.My guide has been ****** me tremble by relating the dangers to which he was exposed in 1864 on Morteratsch, where he had accompanied Professor Tyndall and another English tourist.They were all swept away by an avalanche.Attached to the same rope, they went down with the snow.A fall of three hundred metres! They would have been lost, if, through the presence of mind of one of the guides, they had not succeeded in stopping themselves two feet from a frightful precipice, which was about to swallow them up.I am a father, and I do not despise life.Let him ascend Morteratsch who likes! I wish our friend Larinski had made the descent safe and sound.
If he has met an avalanche on the way, he will invent no more guns."Antoinette was no longer mistress of her nerves: during the entire evening she was so preoccupied that M.Moriaz could not fail to notice it; but he had no suspicion of the cause.He was profoundly versed in qualitative and quantitative analysis, but less skilled in the analysis of his daughter's heart."How pale you are!" he said to her.
"Are you not well? You are cold.--Pray, Mlle.Moiseney, make yourself useful and prepare her a mulled egg; you know I do not permit her to be sick."It was not the mulled egg that restored Mlle.Moriaz's color.The next morning as she was giving a drawing lesson to her /protegee/, Count Abel was announced.She trembled; the blood rose in her cheeks, and she could not conceal her agitation from the penetrating gaze of the audacious charmer.It might easily be seen that he had just descended from where the eagles themselves seldom ascend.His face was weather-beaten by the ice and snow.He had successfully accomplished the double ascent, of which he was compelled to give an account.In descending from Morteratsch he had been overtaken by a storm, and had come very near never again seeing the valley or Mlle.Moriaz.He owed his life to the presence of mind and courage of his guide, on whom he could not bestow sufficient praise.
While he modestly narrated his exploits, Antoinette had dismissed her pupil.He seemed embarrassed by the /tete-a-tete/ which, nevertheless, he had sought.He rose, saying: "I regret not being able to see M.
