S. was still more
affected.
I was glad enough when the old building came in view, though the road
lay up an ascent of snow almost perpendicular.
At the foot of this ascent we paused. Our guides, who looked a little
puzzled, held a few moments' conversation, in which the word
"_fonce_" was particularly prominent, a word which I took to be
equivalent to our English "_slump;_" and indeed the place was
suggestive of the idea. The snow had so far melted and softened under
the influence of the July sun, that something of this kind, in going
up the ascent, seemed exceedingly probable. The man stood leaning on
his alpenstock, looking at the thing to be demonstrated. There were
two paths, both equally steep and snowy. At last he gathered up the
bridle, and started up the most direct way. The mule did not like it
at all, evidently, and expressed his disgust by occasionally stopping
short and snuffing, meaning probably to intimate that he considered
the whole thing a humbug, and that in his opinion we should all slump
through together, and go to - nobody knows where. At last, when we were
almost up the ascent, he did slump, and went up to his breast in the
snow; whereat the guide pulled me out of the saddle with one hand, and
pulled him out of the hole with the other. In a minute he had me into
the saddle again, and after a few moments more we were up the ascent
and drawing near the _hospice_ - a great, square, strong, stone
building, standing alone among rocks and snowbanks.
As we drove up nearer I saw the little porch in front of it crowded
with gentlemen smoking cigars, and gazing on our approach just as any
set of loafers do from the porch of a fashionable hotel. This was
quite a new idea of the matter to me. We had been flattering ourselves
on performing an incredible adventure; and lo, and behold, all the
world were there waiting for us.
[Illustration: _of a large multi-story hospice and other buildings in a
remote-looking mountain valley. A river flows in the foreground._]
We came up to the steps, and I was so crippled with fatigue and so
dizzy and sick with the thin air, that I hardly knew what I was doing.
We entered a low-browed, dark, arched, stone passage, smelling
dismally of antiquity and dogs, when a brisk voice accosted me in the
very choicest of French, and in terms of welcome as gay and courtly as
if we were entering a _salon_.
Keys clashed, and we went up stone staircases, our entertainer talking
volubly all the way. As for me, all the French I ever knew was buried
under an avalanche. C. had to make answer for me, that madame was very
unwell, which brought forth another stream of condolence as we came
into a supper room, lighted by a wood fire at one end.
