Aaron's face had that watchful, half-amused expression.

The man said something in Italian.
Aaron shook his head, laughed, and said: "Tell me in English." The man went softly to the window curtains, and motioned them with his hand.
"Yes, do," said Aaron.
So the man drew the buff-coloured silk curtains: and Aaron, sitting in bed, could see away beyond red roofs of a town, and in the further heaven great snowy mountains.
"The Alps," he said in surprise.
"Gli Alpi--si, signore." The man bowed, gathered up Aaron's clothes, and silently retired.
Aaron watched through the window.

It was a frosty morning at the end of September, with a clear blue morning-sky, Alpine, and the watchful, snow-streaked mountain tops bunched in the distance, as if waiting.
There they were, hovering round, circling, waiting.

They reminded him of marvellous striped sky-panthers circling round a great camp: the red-roofed city.

Aaron looked, and looked again.