The journey costs about one louis, and to acquit himself fully of any debt to Edith Maurice had almost exhausted his own resources. He had consulted the time-tables. By way of Turin the fare was too dear. When he should have paid the third-class rate from Orta to Domodossola, and from Brieg to Chambéry, he should have left in his pockets, according to his calculations, nothing but the price of three or four very modest meals. It was truly the return of the prodigal son. He bore without displeasure the penury which made him one with the humble workmen with whom he shared the compartment. It distracted him from his pain by its shabby trials. Besides, it gave him no real concern. He knew how nice people sometimes managed their little economies to afford their carriage and expensive houses at Brieg. At the head of the pass, the hospice of the Simplon, like the one at the Grand St. Bernard, gave free hospitality to the poor who crossed the mountain, and even tourists were not ashamed to profit by it. His neighbour from Piedmont, who knew the country, ended up by instructing him on the subject. “The hospice is always open,” he said. “Day and night, night and day. At night you just go in and find a room on the first floor, without saying anything to anybody.” Thus the difficulties of the journey were made simple. He would go through the Simplon on foot, and sleep at the hospice. At Domodossola, the extreme end of the line, he got out of the train, and started out proudly by the side of the diligence, which stood in front of the station, and, once filled with passengers, started off at a trot, the ardour of the five horses very fresh at the beginning of the interminable ascent. The guard took a good look at this well-dressed young man with a satchel in his hand who was not afraid to use his shoes. He brought his team to a stop, cracked his whip to attract attention, and with a gallant gesture, as if he were offering a lady some bouquet, he pointed to a vacant seat in the coupé. “Thanks,” replied Maurice. “I’m going on foot.” “Impossible! Impossible with a gentleman’s legs. And so far. I’m sure the Signorina is waiting for you.” “No one is waiting for me,” said Maurice. “Oh, so much the worse. A good fire, a warm soup and a wife are nice things to find when you get home.”