In times of danger the mind acts quickly. All these thoughts passed through the mind of our hero as he fell, but all at once there was a violent shock. He had stopped falling, yet he was not dead, only stunned. There was a ledge part way down, a hollow filled with soft snow—making a natural bed, and it was upon this that he had fallen. Yet, soft as it was, the shock was sufficient to deprive him of consciousness.
When he became sensible of surrounding objects—that is, when his consciousness returned—he looked about him in bewilderment.
Where was he?
Not surely on the ledge, for, looking around him, he saw the walls of a small and humble apartment, scantily provided with needful furniture. He was lying upon a bed, a poor wooden bedstead. There was another person in the room—a woman, so humbly attired that he knew she was a Swiss peasant.
"Where am I?" he asked, bewildered.
The woman turned quickly, and her homely, sun-browned face glowed with pleasure.
"You are awake, monsieur?" she said, in the French language.
I have already said that Frank was a French scholar, and could understand the language to a limited extent, as well as speak it somewhat. He understood her, and answered in French:
"Yes, madame, I am awake. Will you kindly tell me where I am?"
"You met with an accident, monsieur. My husband and my brother were upon the mountain, and found you on a ledge covered with snow."