Chaste as Ice, Pure as Snow: A Novel

by C. Despard

Her summons drew the whole of the little party to the door, just in time to see the small cavalcade draw up, and to meet the questioning, reproachful gaze of the good Karl.

To explain his appearance on the scene, it will be necessary to relate how the ungrateful Arthur had quite forgotten his friend's servant, who according to his own showing had earned for him the favor of that tête-à-tête dinner at the hotel with the man to find whom he had traversed Europe in its length and breadth.

It was only when the good German showed his round face, in which sentiment and joy were struggling for the mastery, at the door of the chalet that Arthur remembered his intention of letting him know of his own return to the hotel and his master's whereabouts. The rapid start with Laura and the guide, following on the interval of regretful meditation in his own room, had put everything else out of his mind, and Karl, who, as was his wont, had been making himself useful and entertaining in the kitchen of the hotel, only found out when it was too late to do any good that uneasy rumors were afloat in the house about the two Englishmen, one of whom was his master.

Karl was eminently practical. He lost no time in dreaming about their probable fate. Something—perhaps an accident to his master, since the younger man had returned for assistance—was detaining them at the chalet. The chalet was ill-provided with food and necessary comforts. As soon as it could be possible to gather together a company large enough to be useful in any emergency, he would find his way to his master.

He spent the rest of the night in making every arrangement. Before dawn he and his party of three stalwart men were on foot. Hence their arrival at a comparatively early hour of the morning.

Karl's astonishment at the appearance presented by the chalet was very great, and it was blended with reproach. His master and his master's friend were on their feet, apparently uninjured; they seemed to have plenty of assistants, for the guide, Marie, Arthur, Maurice and the child made an imposing show in the small doorway; it was impossible to tell how many more might be behind them. Why, then, had he, the Englishman's faithful servant, been forgotten in this strange jubilee?

But his helpful nature reasserted itself when he found how very much his services were needed. In the course of a few minutes he was bustling about, acting as interpreter, preparing a substantial meal for Maurice's half-starved little company, presenting everybody with shawl or rug, and making himself generally useful.

Laura had her white bread and some sugar and milk. Arthur and Maurice rejoiced in the dissection of a fowl, and the guide had a fresh and unlimited supply of sausages; they were therefore soon sufficiently strengthened to think with equanimity of a new start. The poles of the chaise-à-porteur, brought up in case of emergency by the provident Karl, formed, with mattresses and ropes, an excellent litter. On this they laid L'Estrange, well wrapped up in rugs and blankets.

Before the sun had risen very high in the heavens the little cavalcade was in motion—Laura mounted on the mule which her father led; L'Estrange, passive as an infant, in the litter they had prepared for him; the rest of the party on foot.

As they entered the pinewood, Maurice turned, and shading his eyes from the morning sun, took one last look at his temporary dwelling. It had been the home of his solitude, the mute witness of despair that had reached its climax in those last days when his life had seemed a burden too heavy to be borne, and he was leaving it—leaving it and the past life for ever.