“I don’t,” Mr. Ruck replied. “You can’t _make_ me. I’m thinking of cathedrals. I’m thinking of the way they used to chain you up under them or burn you up in front of them—in those high old times. I’m thinking of the beauties of nature too,” he went on, turning round on the bench and leaning his elbow on the parapet. “You can get killed over there I suppose also”—and he nodded at the shining crests. “I’m thinking of going over—because, whatever the danger, I seem more afraid not to. That’s why I do most things. How do you get over?” he sighed. “Over to Chamouni?” “Over to those hills. Don’t they run a train right up?” “You can go to Chamouni,” I said. “You can go to Grindelwald and Zermatt and fifty other places. You can’t go by rail, but you can drive.” “All right, we’ll drive—you can’t tell the difference in these cars. Yes,” Mr. Ruck proceeded, “Chamouni’s one of the places we put down. I hope there are good stores in Chamouni.” He spoke with a quickened ring and with an irony more pointed than commonly served him. It was as if he had been wrought upon, and yet his general submission to fate was still there. I judged he had simply taken, in the face of disaster, a sudden sublime resolution not to worry. He presently twisted himself about on his bench again and began to look out for his companions. “Well, they _are_ taking a look,” he resumed; “I guess they’ve struck something somewhere. And they’ve got a carriage waiting outside of that archway too. They seem to do a big business in archways here, don’t they? They like to have a carriage to carry home the things—those ladies of mine. Then they’re sure they’ve got ’em.” The ladies, after this, to do them justice, were not very long in appearing. They came toward us from under the archway to which Mr. Ruck had somewhat invidiously alluded, slowly and with a jaded air. My companion watched them as they advanced. “They’re right down tired. When they look like that it kind o’ foots up.” “Well,” said Mrs. Ruck, “I’m glad you’ve had some company.” Her husband looked at her, in silence, through narrowed eyelids, and I suspected that her unusually gracious observation was prompted by the less innocent aftertaste of her own late pastime. Her daughter glanced at me with the habit of straighter defiance. “It would have been more proper if _we_ had had the company. Why didn’t you come after us instead of sneaking there?” she asked of Mr. Ruck’s companion.