"Open the blind, my friend." Jo Portugais got to his feet quickly, eyes averted--he did not dare look into Charley's face--and went over and drew back the deer-skin blind.
The clear, crisp sunlight of a frosty morning broke gladly into the room.

Charley turned and blew out the candle on the table where he had eaten, then walked feebly to the window.

Standing on the crest of the mountain the hut looked down through a clearing, flanked by forest trees.
It was a goodly scene.

The green and frosted foliage of the pines and cedars; the flowery tracery of frost hanging like cobwebs everywhere; the poudre sparkle in the air; the hills of silver and emerald sloping down to the valley miles away, where the village clustered about the great old parish church; the smoke from a hundred chimneys, in purple spirals, rising straight up in the windless air; over all peace and a perfect silence.
Charley mechanically fixed his eye-glass and stood with hands resting on the window-sill, looking, looking out upon a new world.
At length he turned.
"Is there anything I can do for you, M'sieu' ?" said Jo huskily.
Charley held out his hand and clasped Jo's.

"Tell me about all these months," he said..