"'Well, Sylvain!' she cried on seeing me, 'All has gone well?'
"'Not altogether, Mademoiselle,' I replied, not knowing how to begin.
"Mademoiselle looked at me, noticed my bent head and my eyes full of tears—she rose, came towards me—'What is the matter? Tell me all!'
"I could only answer, 'Have courage, Mademoiselle.'
"She understood me. The brave young girl knelt down and prayed for a few moments, and then got up pale, calm, dry-eyed. 'Now you can tell me everything,' she said, 'I am ready.'
"She insisted on accompanying me at once to Chamonix, where she, in her turn, would have to break the sad tidings to her mother and sister.
"At the foot of the mountain the sister of Mademoiselle met us, happy and smiling.
"Do not ask me any more details of that awful day, I have not the strength to tell them to you."
Thirty-one years passed, when, in 1897, Colonel Arkwright, a brother of Henry Arkwright's, received the following telegram from the Mayor of Chamonix: