There was something so frank and truthful, and his words were so well chosen and showed such cultivation, that even had I feared that he was unequal to the task I should have taken him. At this moment his sister came out of the inn, the good woman following her with a bottle of wine. "This is for your father, Annette; I hope he will be better to-morrow." "I am going," I heard Franz whisper; and taking the wine-bottle, he left Annette to carry the smaller packages, and turned to us as if ready to set off. "You are not to take Annette, are you?" I asked. "We live halfway up the mountain, and shall pass near the house. We shall not need our poles till we reach that point." We did not over-exert ourselves at the outset, casting our eyes over the green valley, and then up the snowy mountains, sometimes exchanging a word with Franz, but oftener listening, as he talked in a low voice to Annette, of what she was to do during the day. "And if he dies, Franz!" "God grant that he may not." We had now reached the little cottage, and, laying down her packages, Annette ran to a little shed and brought each of us a long pole furnished with a spike at the end, for which we found abundant use before we returned; she then brought a draught of clear, cold water, gushing out of a rock near by, and, bidding us "God speed," entered the hut. Franz was with us, but he had just stopped for a word with his father, and there was a moisture in his eye that came very near calling the tears to our own. We did not question him then, but going on, we paused occasionally to observe the ruin which had been wrought by many avalanches, while our ears mistook the sound of others for thunder. Trees uprooted, withered branches and blasted trunks were scattered in every direction, and sometimes a large space was completely cleared by one of these tremendous agents of destruction. "You have seen the village of Chamouni," said Franz; "it is said to have been built by a few peasants who escaped an avalanche that occurred on the opposite side of the Arve." The higher we ascended the more steep and difficult it became, and more than once did Franz have to turn and teach us how to use our poles, resting the weight of the body upon them, but still inclining the figure to the face of the mountain instead of the valley. Higher up we came to shoots or rivers of frozen snow; the inclination of the ice being extremely steep and the surface smooth, Franz crossed first, making marks with his pole for our feet. He then directed us to look neither above nor below us, but only to our feet, for should we fall nothing could save us from sliding down the ice and being dashed against the rocks or the stumps of trees beneath. Passing the first in safety, we found the next less formidable, while the danger was diminished in proportion to the experience we acquired.