Chayne could very well understand that possibility, and eased of his fears he walked away with Sylvia back to the open square in the middle of the town.

Darkness had come, and both stopped with one accord and looked upward to the massive barrier of hills.

The rock peaks stood sharply up against the clear, dark sky, the snow-slopes glimmered faintly like a pale mist, and incredibly far, incredibly high, underneath a bright and dancing star, shone a dim and rounded whiteness, the snow-cap of Mont Blanc.
"A year ago," said Sylvia, drawing a breath and bethinking her of the black shadows which during those twelve months had lain across her path.
"Yes, a year ago we were here," said Chayne.

The little square was thronged, the hotels and houses were bright with lights, and from here and from there music floated out upon the air, the light and lilting melodies of the day.

"Sylvia, you see the cafe down the street there by the bridge ?" "Yes." "A year ago, on just such a night as this, I sat with my guide, Michel Revailloud.