So absorbed were they in the discussion that they failed to notice the perceptible cooling of the temperature. The sun no longer warmed the roofing of the hut, and there was a desolate note in the sudden gusts of wind which shook the door at frequent intervals as though trying to attract the attention of those within. Presently a louder rattle than usual, coincident with a chance pause in the conversation, roused them effectually. The Englishman’s keen glance flashed to the little window, through which was visible a dancing, whirling blur of white. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed in good round English. “It’s snowing like the very dickens!” In two strides he had reached the door, and, throwing it open, peered out. A draught of icy air rushed into the hut, accompanied by a flurry of fine snow driven on the wind. When he turned back, his face had assumed a sudden look of gravity. “We must go at once,” he said, speaking in French again and apparently unconscious of his momentary lapse into his native tongue. “If we don’t, we shan’t be able to get back at all. The snow drifts quickly in the valley. Half an hour more of this and we shouldn’t be able to get through.” Jean thrust the Visitors’ Book back into its box, and began hastily repacking her companion’s, knapsack, but he stopped her almost roughly. “Never mind that. Fasten that fur thing closer round your throat and come on. There’s no taking chances in a blizzard like this. Don’t you understand?”--almost roughly. “If we waste time we may have to spend the night here.” Impelled by the sudden urgency of his tones, Jean followed him swiftly out of the hut, and the wind, as though baulked by her haste, snatched the door from her grasp and drove it to with a menacing thud behind them. CHAPTER V--AMONG THE SNOWS AS Jean stepped outside the hut it seemed as though she had walked straight into the heart of the storm. The bitter, ice-laden blast that bore down from the mountains caught away her breath, the fine driving flakes, crystal-hard, whipped her face, almost blinding her with the fury of their onslaught, whilst her feet slipped and slid on the newly fallen snow as she trudged along beside the Englishman. “This is a good preparation for a dance!” she gasped breathlessly, forcing her chilled lips to a smile. “For a dance? What dance?” “There’s a fancy dress ball at the hotel to-night. There won’t be--much of me--left to dance, will there?” The Englishman laughed suddenly. “My chief concern is to get you back to the hotel--alive,” he observed grimly. Jean looked at him quickly. “Is it as bad as that?” she asked more soberly. “No. At least I hope not. I didn’t mean to frighten you”--hastily. “Only it seemed a trifle incongruous to be contemplating a dance when we may be struggling through several feet of snow in half an hour.”