There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. To-morrow I am going to Paris. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath.
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