It was worth while to overcome all these difficulties to attain the “Mer de Glace” a fairy-like icy-kingdom. I was amazed by the vast and lonely beauty of these interminable uplands of ice; we were well repaid for our climb by this scenery of wildest beauty. On our way back we left the road and descended by the rough track to the lower route leading to the Hotel Eiger by a short cut, where we expected to find our saddle-horses, but when we had gained the road they were nowhere to be seen and we had to walk the entire remaining distance to the Hotel Eiger with the sun right over our heads. We got to the hotel red-faced, breathless and foot-sore. Our tempers suffered as well as our legs and we were so displeased with the manager for having given us such careless guides, that we wouldn’t take any refreshment at the hotel and hastened back to Interlaken. On arriving there we had dinner brought into our room and then went straight to bed. It was an unspeakable comfort to stretch my weary limbs between the cool sheets. CHAPTER XXVII MONTREUX On the next afternoon we started for Montreux intending to remain there about three days. We put up at the Hôtel du Cygne. Our windows opened on Lake Leman bordered by high snow-clad mountains, which lay like a mirror before us. Far away, the jagged summit of La Dent du Midi revealed itself in a dazzling and lovely garb; on the opposite side of the wide lake appeared the shores of France. The next morning we rode to Chillon where we visited the mediæval castle, historically old and famous. The Château de Chillon stands on a small island which is reached by a bridge. An old guardian produced a large bunch of keys and took us all over the castle, down a labyrinth of mysterious echoing passages with many hidden nooks. It is a place full of thrilling historical associations; to hear the guide talk of the massacres that took place here, made my blood run cold. Down steep, winding steps we followed our guide into the secret chambers where the victims were kept. He brought us into a dungeon where Bonnivard, the famous “Prisoner of Chillon,” endured his weary captivity, chained up to a post three hundred years ago. It has tall columns carved apparently from the rock, inscribed all over with a thousand names beginning with Byron and Victor Hugo. The torture-chamber was also shown to us, where the prisoners, after hideous martyrdom on the bed of tortures, were sentenced to death. We saw the huge stone upon which the victims condemned to death spent their last night. After long tortures to some of them it was announced that they were free, and believing that they were going into liberty, they joyfully descended the three steps which led into a deep pit and fell down upon sharp-pointed daggers. A shiver ran through me when I passed the open square where the gibbet stood, and saw the windows from which the corpses of the executed were thrown right down into the lake.