“Indeed I will,” said I, “but it’s not going to thunder and tomorrow you and I are going to take a hike together.”
III
Tells of my ramble with the Gray Meteor and of his singular conduct, and of a discovery which I made.
I have seen soldiers suffering from shell shock led across the boulevard in Paris, held by the hand like children. I have seen one, a great, strapping fellow, guided to his seat in a restaurant. I have seen one stand upon the street wringing his hands and sobbing because he did not know which way to go. And no one of these unfortunates that I have ever seen would have ventured out alone upon the most trifling errand. Panic fear of themselves is their most distressing and conspicuous symptom.
Yet here was one of them whose last vestige of stamina seemed to have forsaken him, but who had yet penetrated into these rugged mountain heights. It was not so much the distance from France, as the endless up-and-down distances and winding ways of those Alpine fastnesses which made the thing seem impossible. Apparently he had a half forgotten smattering of some of the primitive outdoor arts and I had won his confidence and aroused some hope and interest in him by promising him a “hike.” But he was no more able to reach this sequestered spot unaided than a baby in arms.
Who, then, had aided him?
Try as I would, I could not persuade him to remain over night at my little inn, the fear of any noise seeming constantly with him, and I let him go, realizing with regret that perhaps he was as well off in his solitude with only the softer voices of nature about him.
But in the morning I was early at his retreat, with high hopes of the little excursion which awaited us. For I had thought that a quiet ramble in those unfrequented places would be a balm and solace to his poor nerves and wavering mind. Little did I dream what that ramble would reveal.
Our path took us through a forest thick with pines of such magnificence as I had never before seen, one as much like another as the pillars of a collonade, and for which this Jura range is famous. I have it from my host that after rainy weather the pungent odor from these pines is actually intoxicating and that wayfarers have been known to slumber under its fragrant influence for several days. I think I shall never again smell the spirit-rousing pungence of a Christmas tree without recalling our memorable ramble in that dim cathedral of the Jura Mountains.
I noticed that the sounds of nature had no such distressing effect upon my companion as did the ruder clamor of human clap-trap, and that he was more at ease in these majestic scenes. Perhaps kind nature, that great physician who asks no fee, had pointed out his solitary cave to him, after the thunderous tumult of the war—I do not know. But in any event he seemed more at ease than I had yet seen him. And I perceived clearly enough then that he was not insane—only that he had lost his grip.