"Where have you been so
early?" she asked.
"To find a burnt-offering for your shrine," said the Boy; and tearing
off the white wrappings, he gave her the silver chamois.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIX
The Little Rift within the Lute
"There comes a mist, and a weeping rain,
And nothing is ever the same again;
Alas!"
--GEORGE MACDONALD.
We devoted three days to some exquisite excursions, which more than
half consoled me for sacrificing Mont Blanc to make a tyrant's
holiday, and then decided to push on to Aix-les-Bains, stopping on the
way for a glimpse of Annecy.
The Contessa had planned to go from Chamounix to Aix by rail with her
friends, but she had either fallen in love with our mode of travelling
or pretended it. A hint to the Boy, and Fanny-anny was placed at her
disposal for a ride from Chamounix to Annecy, a lady's saddle being
easily picked up in a town of shops which miss no opportunities. As
for the Baron and Baronessa, it was plain to see the drift of their
minds. So angry were they at the change of programme, that it would
have been a satisfaction to quarrel with Gaeta, and leave her in a
huff. But their devotion to Paolo, which was almost pathetic, forbade
them this form of self-indulgence. They curbed their annoyance with
the bit of common-sense, though it galled their mouths, and consented
to drive to Annecy in a carriage provided by Gaeta for their
accommodation.
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