The Princess Passes by Alice Muriel Williamson and Charles Norris Williamson

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"To have the sensation of Mont Blanc suddenly bursting upon you."

"Well, I--to tell the truth, I had a whim--just a whim, and nothing
more--to be with you and not with the Contessa when the time for that
sensation should come."

My heart warmed; but perhaps I was flattering myself unduly. "You
were afraid that her fascinations might overpower those of Mont Blanc,
I suppose, whereas I am a mere stock or stone?"

"That's one way of putting it," replied he calmly. But when the
sensation did come, he caught my arm, with a quick-drawn breath, and
no word following.

Our worship of other mountains had been a serving of false gods. There
was the one White Truth, dwarfing all else into insignificance; not a
mere mountain, but a world of snow sailing moon-like in full sky. It
was, indeed, as if the moon, gleaming white and bathed in radiance,
had come to pay Earth a visit. Surely it would not stay; surely it was
a secret that she had come, and we had found it out, just when this
great dark rock-door through which we looked, opened by accident to
show the sight. But if it were a secret, there was no fear that we
would ever tell it, for it soared beyond words.

The first glimpse gave this impression; afterwards we could not have
recalled it if we had tried. We grew used to the white Majesty which
faced us, by-and-bye, as alas! one does grow used to beauty while one
has it within reach of the eye. But just as the Boy had begun to
confess himself tired, and to lag in his walk, resting an arm on my
shoulder, a new wonder came, like a draught of tonic wine. Sunset,
with King Midas' touch, transformed the whole mountain to gold, so
that it burned like a lamp to light the world, against a violet sky.
In the foreground was a low rampart of green mountain, down which
poured a huge glacier like an arrested cataract. It glimmered with a
faint radiance, greenish-blue, and pale as the gleam of a glow-worm.
The violet of the sky deepened to amethyst-purple, and the snow on the
waving line of mountains turned from gold to pink, as if there had
been a sudden rain of rose leaves.

For a long time lasted the changing play of jewelled lights, and then
the magic colour was swallowed at a gulp by the descending night.

Far away, and far down in the deep valley, the lights of Chamounix and
its satellite villages sparkled like a troupe of fallen stars. They
lay in a bright heap, clustered together; and Innocentina, coming up
with us at this moment, said that they were like raisins sunk together
at the bottom of a pudding. The late rain had set all the little
torrents talking, and we were silent, listening to their gossip of the
mountains' secrets.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XVIII

Rank Tyranny

"Thou art past the tyrant's stroke."
--SHAKESPEARE.

We seemed to have formed a habit, the Boy and I, of steering always
for a Hotel Mont Blanc, if there were one in a town; so that now we
had come to look upon a hostelry with such a name as a sort of second
home, a daughter of a mother house. There were still two other reasons
why we should select the Mont Blanc in Chamounix: the first, because
the Contessa was going there and had asked us to do likewise; the
second, because at Martigny we had seen an advertisement of the hotel
which stated that it was situated in a "_vaste parc avec chamois_."

Our imagination pictured an ancient chateau, altered for modern uses,
shut away from the outer world in a mysterious forest of dark pines,
where wild chamois sported gracefully at will, leaping across chasms
from one overhanging rock to another.

It was long past twilight when our little procession of four human
beings and three beasts of burden straggled through a lighted gateway
which we had been told to enter for the Hotel Mont Blanc. With one
blow our ancient castle was shattered. At a hundred metres distant
from the street rose an enormous modern hotel, blazing with light at
every window. Where was the vast park with its crowding pines and its
ravines for the wild chamois? It must be somewhere, since the
advertisement certified its existence, and so must the chamois.
Perhaps the forest lay behind the hotel; but the Boy was too tired to
care, and to us both baths, food, and rest were for the moment worth
more than parks or chamois. The hotel struck a high note of
civilisation, and I had seen nothing so fine since London or Paris.
The Boy and I dined late and sumptuously, tete-a-tete, for the hot sun
and the long drive had sent Gaeta to bed, chastened with a headache;
and, weary as he was, the Little Pal had pluck enough left to suggest
an appointment for early next morning. "I shall want to know how Mont
Blanc looks from my window, so I won't waste my time in bed," said he.
"Besides, I'm rather keen to see the chamois, aren't you? The only one
I've ever met was stuffed, and rather moth-eaten. He was in a dime
museum in New York."

I was up at half-past six next day, and at my window, where Mont Blanc
in early sunshine smote me in the face with its nearness. A sudden
longing took me, as the longing for a great white lamp takes a moth,
to fly at it, or, in other words, to get myself to the top. I had
never "done" any Swiss ascents, though I knew almost every peak and
pinnacle of rock in Cumberland and Wales, and it seemed to me that I
should be a muff to miss the chance of such a climb as this. By the
time I had dressed, the thing was decided. I would see about guides,
and try to arrange at once for the ascent.

The thought had joy in it, and I ran downstairs, whistling the "Alpine
Maid." The Boy and I had settled overnight that we would drink our
morning coffee and eat our rolls together, at a quarter to eight, long
before the Contessa or her friends had opened their eyes; but the
appointed time was not yet come, and I had it in mind to make
enquiries concerning my excursion, when I almost stumbled against the
Boy, coming in at the front door.

"I've been out in the park," said he, when we had exchanged by way of
greeting a "Hello, Boy" and "Hello, Man."

"Meet any chamois?"

"Yes."

"Honour bright? An inspection of the park from my window led me to
fear that they must be an engaging myth. There's a fine big garden,
with a lot of trees in it, but as for rocks or chamois----"

"There are both. Come out and I'll show you."

I went, walking beside the Boy along one well-kept path after another,
until suddenly the bubble delusion broke. In a cage stood or sat, in
various attitudes of bored dejection, five melancholy little animals
with horns, and singularly large, prominent eyes. Their aspect begged
pardon for their degradation, as they turned their backs with weak
scorn upon a toy rock in the centre of their prison. "We have reason
to believe that we are well connected," they seemed to bleat, "because
there is an ancient legend in our household that we are chamois, but
you must not judge the family by us."

"I believe," said the Boy pitifully, "they've degenerated so far now,
that, if one gave them Mont Blanc to bound upon, they wouldn't know
what to do with it."

"I would, however," said I, full of my project, "and I'm thinking of
trying."

"What do you meant" asked the Boy, looking rather startled.

"Let's have breakfast out of doors on a little table under the trees,
and I'll tell you. Here's one in the shade, and away from the--er--a
certain chamois-ness in the air." I pulled up chairs, and raised my
hand to a hovering waiter. "What I mean to say is," I went on, "that
I'm going to make the ascent as soon as I can arrange it. You won't
mind waiting for me a couple of days, will you?--or, of course, you
can travel with the Contessa if you like. No doubt she would be
delighted to have you."

"You're going up--Mont Blanc?"

"I am, my Kid."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because--you might be killed."

"Good heavens, one would think I was Icarus, gluing a pair of wax
wings on to my shoulder-blades for a flight into ether. I'm not
exactly a novice at the game, you know, though I haven't done any
snow-climbing. Why, you little donkey, you look pale. What's the
matter with you?"

"Do you know what happened this morning--or rather last night?" the
Boy replied to my question with another. "Did any of the hotel people
tell you?"

"No. Don't be mysterious before breakfast. It isn't good for the
digestion."

"Don't joke. I wasn't going to say anything about it till afterwards,
in case you hadn't heard; but now I will. The _femme de chambre_ told
me. The news has just come that a young guide has died of exhaustion
on the mountain, between the Observatory and the Grands Mulets. Two
others who were with him had to leave him lying dead, after dragging
the body down a long way."

At this inappropriate moment, our coffee, rolls, and honey were set
before us, and the waiter, being an accomplished linguist, like most
of his singularly gifted and enterprising kind, had heard and
understood the last sentence. Bursting with gruesome information, he
could not resist lightening himself of the burden, for our benefit and
his own. "You can see the dead man lying on the snow, far up on the
mountain," said he eagerly, "if you go into the town and look through
one of the telescopes. I have seen him already; he is like a small,
dark packet on the white ground, wrapped in his coat."

My appetite for breakfast suddenly dwindled, but not so my appetite
for the climb. I was very sorry that a man had died on the mountain,
but I could not bring him to life again by remaining on low levels,
and so I remarked when the Boy asked me if I were still in the same
mind concerning the ascent. "I shall see about a guide directly after
breakfast," said I, "and when you hear a cannon fired in the town
announcing the arrival of a party at the top of Mont Blanc, you will
know it is an echo of my shout of Excelsior!"

"No, I won't know it," returned the Boy obstinately. "For one thing,
the cannon might be fired for someone else, and besides, I won't be
here."

"Oh, you'll go on with the Contessa? But I shouldn't be surprised if
she were good-natured enough to wait at Chamounix to congratulate me
when I come down."

"No doubt she thinks enough of you to do that. But what I mean is
this: if you go up Mont Blanc, I'm going too."

"Nonsense! You'll do nothing of the kind. You are a very plucky chap,
but you're not a Hercules yet, whatever you may develop into ten years
from now. No minors are permitted to ascend Mont Blanc."

"_That's_ nonsense, if you like! I shall go if you do."

"I won't take you."

"I don't ask you to. I shan't start until after you've gone, so, you
see, you'll have no power to prevent me."

"You are simply talking rot, my dear boy. Good heavens, you'd die of
mountain sickness or exhaustion before you were half-way up."

"Perhaps. I know very little about my ability as a climber, for I've
never made any big ascents, though I've scrambled about in the
mountains a little at home."

"It would be madness for you to attempt such a thing. Why, don't you
know it taxes the endurance of a strong man? You've only lately
recovered from an illness; you told me so yourself. I shan't allow you
to----"

"You're not my keeper, you know."

"But we are friends, pals. I ask you, as a great favour, to be
sensible, and----"

"I asked you as a great favour not to go up Mont Blanc. Things happen.
I have a feeling that something might happen to you. I should
be--wretched while you were gone. I couldn't sit still under the
suspense, feeling as I do. So I would follow your example."

"There'd be no danger for me. There might be death for you."

"Well, then, you can save my life if you like, by not going. If you
don't go, I won't."

"Of all the brutal tyrants who have tyrannised over mankind----"

"I heard you say once that you would like to have been a professional
tyrant. Why shouldn't I qualify for the part?"

"You are cruel to put me in such a position."

"You are cruel to make me do it, for your own selfish amusement."

"By Jove! You talk like an exacting woman!"

The blood rushed to his face so hotly that it forced water into the
brilliant eyes of wild-chicory blue.

"If I were a woman I don't think I would be an exacting one. I should
only want people I--liked, to do things because they cared about me,
otherwise favours would be of no value. We're pals, as you say, great
pals, but if you don't care enough----"

"Oh, hang it all, Kid, I'll give the thing up," I broke in, crossly.
"I'll potter about with you and the Contessa in Chamounix, and take
some nice, pretty, proper walks. But all the same, you're a little
brute."

"Do you hate me?"

"Not precisely. But if I stop down here, Satan will certainly find
mischief for my idle hands to do. I shall try to take your Contessa
away from you, perhaps."

"Oh, will you? Then I shall try to keep her; and we shall see which is
the better man."

He rose from the table with a little swagger, ruffling it gaily in his
triumph over me; and so young, so small he seemed, to be boasting of
his manhood and his prowess in the warfare of love, that I burst out
laughing.

"Come on," I said, "let's go and have a look round Chamounix, since
there's no better sport to be had."

So we strolled out of the _vaste parc avec chamois_ into the streets
of the gay and charming little town, lying like a bright crystal at
the foot of Mont Blanc. Round each of several big telescopes under
striped canvas umbrellas, was collected a crowd. We could guess at
what they were looking. "Shall we stop and see that piteous dark
packet lying lonely on the snow?" I asked, pausing. But the Boy
hurried on. "No, no," he said, "I should feel as if I had been spying
on the dead through a keyhole. I want to buy something at the shops."

"And I want to see the statue of Horace de Saussure, the first man who
ever got to the top of Mont Blanc," said I, with reproachful meaning
in my tone.

The shops were almost as attractive as those of Lucerne, and gave an
air of modernity and civilisation to the little place, which would
have been out of the picture, had it not contrived to suggest the
piquancy of contrast. The Boy spent a hundred francs for a silver
chamois poised upon the apex of a perilous peak of uncut amethysts,
mounted on ebony, and I was witty at the expense of his purchase,
likening it to the white elephant of Instantaneous Breakfasts et Cie.,
which I had long ago cast behind me.

"You will be throwing your chamois away in a day or two," I
prophesied, "or sending it back to our landlord to add to his
collection of animals."

"You will see that I shan't throw it away," the Boy returned, and
insisted upon carrying the parcel in his hand, instead of having it
sent from the shop to the hotel. When we had learned something of the
town we sauntered homeward; and seated in the _vaste parc_ with a
novel and a red silk parasol, we found Gaeta. "Where have you been so
early?" she asked.

"To find a burnt-offering for your shrine," said the Boy; and tearing
off the white wrappings, he gave her the silver chamois.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIX

The Little Rift within the Lute

"There comes a mist, and a weeping rain,
And nothing is ever the same again;
Alas!"
--GEORGE MACDONALD.

We devoted three days to some exquisite excursions, which more than
half consoled me for sacrificing Mont Blanc to make a tyrant's
holiday, and then decided to push on to Aix-les-Bains, stopping on the
way for a glimpse of Annecy.

The Contessa had planned to go from Chamounix to Aix by rail with her
friends, but she had either fallen in love with our mode of travelling
or pretended it. A hint to the Boy, and Fanny-anny was placed at her
disposal for a ride from Chamounix to Annecy, a lady's saddle being
easily picked up in a town of shops which miss no opportunities. As
for the Baron and Baronessa, it was plain to see the drift of their
minds. So angry were they at the change of programme, that it would
have been a satisfaction to quarrel with Gaeta, and leave her in a
huff. But their devotion to Paolo, which was almost pathetic, forbade
them this form of self-indulgence. They curbed their annoyance with
the bit of common-sense, though it galled their mouths, and consented
to drive to Annecy in a carriage provided by Gaeta for their
accommodation. They even constrained themselves to be civil to the Boy
and me, though their heavy politeness had the electrical quality of a
lull before a storm. How that storm would break I could not foresee,
but that it would presently burst above our heads I was sure.

There was no longer a question that Boy was hot favourite in the race
for Gaeta's smiles. There might have been betting on me for "place,"
but it would have been foolish to put money on my chances as winner.
The young wretch scarcely gave me a chance for a word with the
Contessa, for if I walked on the left he walked on the right of her as
she rode, his little brown hand on the new saddle, which had taken the
place of the old one sent on to Annecy by _grande vitesse_. I would
have surrendered, being too lazy for a struggle, had I not been
somewhat piqued by the Boy's behaviour. He had affected not to care
for Gaeta at first, and had even feigned annoyance at the temporary
addition to our party, while in reality he could have had little
genuine wish for my society, or he would not now betray such eagerness
in the game he was playing. The vague sense of wrong I suffered gave
me a wish for reprisal of some sort, and the only one convenient at
the moment was to prevent the offender from having a clear course. I
found a certain mean pleasure in stirring the Boy to jealousy by
reviving, when I could, some half-dead ember of Gaeta's former
interest in me, and his face showed sometimes that my assiduity
displeased him.

This was encouragement to persevere, and I praised the Contessa to him
when we happened to be alone together. "You have a short memory it
seems," said he. "You told me not so long ago that you'd been in love
with a girl who jilted you. Have you forgotten her already?"

I winced under this thrust, but hoped that the Boy did not see it.
His stab reminded me that I had found very little time lately to
regret Miss Blantock, now Lady Jerveyson; and Molly Winston's words
recurred to me: "If I could only prove to you that you aren't and
never have been in love with Helen." I had retorted that to accomplish
this would be difficult, and she had confidently replied that she
would engage to do it, if I would "take her prescription." I had taken
her prescription, and--indisputably the wound had become callous,
though I was not prepared to admit that it had healed. However, if I
had ceased actively to mourn the grocer's triumph, it was not Gaeta
who had wrought the magic change. What had caused it I was myself at a
loss to understand, but I did not wish to argue the matter with the
Boy. He was welcome to think what he chose.

"Hearts are caught in the rebound sometimes, if for once a proverb can
be right," said I evasively; though a few weeks ago, when Molly had
been constantly alluding to her friend Mercedes, I had told myself
that no one could achieve such a feat with mine.

To this suggestion the Boy made no response, save to tighten his lips,
resolving, I supposed, that if hearts were flying about like
shuttlecocks, his battledore should be ready to catch the Contessa's.

Our road from Chamounix to Annecy led us past gorges and over high
precipices and among noble mountains, but my mind was no longer in a
condition to receive or retain strong impressions of natural beauty. I
was irritable and "out of myself," vainly wishing back the days when
the Boy and I, undisturbed by feminine society, had travelled
tranquilly, side by side, giving each other thought for thought.

"Nothing can be as it has been;
Better, so call it, only not the same,"

Browning said; and so, I feared, it would be after this with me.

We were all to stay at Annecy for a night and a day, the Contessa
having announced that she and her friends would stop too; then Gaeta
and the others were to go on to Aix-les-Bains by rail, and the Boy and
I were to follow on foot, attended by our satellites. Later, we were
to spend a few days at the Contessa's villa and get upon our way
again, journeying south. But it did not seem to me that my little Pal
and I would ever be as we had been before, even though we walked from
Aix-les-Bains all the way down to the Riviera shoulder to shoulder. I
had the will to be the same, but he was different now; and though we
left Gaeta in the flesh at her villa, entertaining guests, Gaeta in
the spirit would still flit between us as we went. The Boy would be
thinking of her; I should know that he was thinking of her, and--there
would be an end of our confidences.

The way, though kaleidoscopic with changing beauties, seemed long to
Annecy. By the time that we arrived, after two days' going, the
Contessa had eyes or dimples or laughter for no one but the Boy.
Sometimes he was seized with sudden moods of rebellion against his new
slavery, and was almost rude to her, saying things which she would not
have forgiven readily from another, but the child-woman appeared to
find a keen delight in forgiving him. Seeing the preference bestowed
upon the young American, Paolo's brother and sister were inclined to
make common cause with me.

In the garden of the old-fashioned hotel at Annecy where we all took
up our headquarters, they came and encamped beside me, at a table near
which I sat alone, smoking, after our first dinner in the place. A
moment later Gaeta passed with the Boy, pacing slowly under the
interlacing branches of the trees.

"I believe that youth to be a fortune-hunter!" exclaimed the thin,
dark Baron.

"You're wrong there," said I, "he's very rich."

"At all events, it is ridiculous, this flirtation," exclaimed the
plump Baronessa. "He is a mere child. Gaeta is making a fool of
herself. You are her friend. You should see this and put a stop to the
affair in some way."

"As to that, many women marry men younger than themselves," I replied,
willing to tease the lady, though I could have laughed aloud at the
bare idea of marriage for the Boy. "Still," I went on more
consolingly, "I hardly think it will come to anything serious between
them."

"Ah, if you say that, you little know Gaeta," protested Gaeta's
friend. "She is infatuated--infatuated with this youth of seventeen or
eighteen, whom she insists, to justify her foolishness, is a year
older than he can possibly be. Something must be done, and soon, or
she is capable of proposing to him, if he pretend to hang back."

"Something will be done, my dear; do not be unnecessarily excited,"
said the Baron. "I fear we have not the full sympathy of Lord Lane."

"If you mean, will I do anything to keep the two apart, I confess you
haven't," I answered. "The Contessa di Ravello is her own mistress,
and I should say if she wanted the moon, it would be bad for anyone
who tried to keep her from getting it."

[Illustration: "HERE WE WERE AT ANNECY".]

"We shall see," murmured the Baron, as the Boy had murmured a few days
ago; and behind this hint also I felt that there lurked some definite
plan.

I had been to Aix-les-Bains years before, but it had not then occurred
to me to visit Annecy, so near by. It was the Boy who had suggested
coming, and we had planned excursions up the lake, looking out on our
guide-book maps various spots of historic or picturesque interest
which we should see _en route_, especially Menthon, the birthplace of
St. Bernard. Now, here we were at Annecy, and in all the world there
could not be a town more charming. By the placid blue lake--whose
water, I am convinced, would still be the colour of melted turquoises
if you corked it up in a bottle--you could wander along shadowed
paths, strewn with the gold coin of sunshine, through a park of dells
as bosky-green as the fair forest of Arden. In the quaint,
old-fashioned streets of the town you were tempted to pause at every
other step for one more snap-shot. You longed to linger on the bridge
and call up a passing panorama of historic pageants. All these things
the Boy and I would have done, and enjoyed peacefully, had we been
alone, but Gaeta elected to find Annecy "dull." There was nothing to
do but take walks, or sit by the lake, or drive for lunch to the Beau
Rivage, or go out for an afternoon's trip in one of the little
steamers. Beautiful? Oh, yes; but quiet places made one want to scream
or stand on one's head when one had been in them a day or two. It
would be much more amusing at Aix. There were the Casinos, and the
_fetes de nuit_, with lots of coloured lanterns in the gardens, and
fireworks, and music; and then, the baccarat! That was amusing, if
you liked, for half an hour, and when you were bored there was always
something else. She must really get to Aix, and see that the Villa
Santa Lucia was in order. We would promise--promise--_promise_ to
follow at once? We would find our rooms at her villa ready, with
flowers in them for a welcome, and we must not be too long on the way.

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